Don’t be ridiculous. You are just overtired. This is Gus, and you can trust him.
“I want you to come back to England with me. As my wife.” His grip tightened.
England. Marriage. What?
“Don’t pull your hand away. Just listen,” he said.
He was a strong man. There was little to no chance of her escaping. Her only choice was to remain on the bed.
What he was proposing was, of course, out of the question, but since Gus had promised to do his all to save her life, she at least owed him a fair hearing.
He cleared his throat. Her gaze went to his face, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
He is nervous.
“You may have noticed that Armand was none too pleased to see me when I arrived at the château. At first, I thought it might be him thinking that my injury would prove a hindrance in any battle. I even toyed with the notion that he wanted to fight Vincent on his own. But then we talked—about you.”
“About me?” She didn’t like the sound of that at all. Armand had been reserved with her. His taciturn behavior venturing on bloody mindedness. Yet, he had spoken to Gus.
“My arrival here in France threw his plans into disarray. He had intended to send you to England. To me.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. Gus didn’t actually want her; he was doing a favor for her uncle. He was offering her marriage because he felt obliged.
This was the worst possible outcome for her affections—being bound to a man who didn’t care for her, who only saw their union as something sensible.
She had been hungry until this moment, eager to fill her belly with a hot, comforting supper. Her appetite evaporated. The large, heavy swell of disappointment which now sat in her stomach left no room for sustenance.
This was, however, was not a done deal. She couldn’t be forced into marriage. Gus had no legal hold over her.
I can’t do this to him. Spend a lifetime with a man I love, when he only sees me as . . .
No. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No.
“I release you from all and any undertakings that you may have made to my uncle. Armand was not right in his mind. It wouldn’t take much to have a physician attest to that fact, especially since he confessed to destroying his own home,” she replied.
Gus finally met her eyes. “Do you find the thought of me being your husband that distasteful? If you do, then I won’t press my suit.”
He rose from the bed and knelt in front of her. “I have always liked you, Evangeline. And I must confess to having harbored a secret tendre for you these past few years. As I said, I came to France for you. That kiss we shared on the beach was as honest as I have ever been with someone.”
She wiped her sudden tears away with the sleeve of her gown. This was all so unexpected. And too much. Was Gus simply being kind? If so, then her answer must surely be no.
But what if he does really want me? If his feelings are more than just a warm regard?
Their private moment in the chapel and the cove had been before Armand’s return. Gus couldn’t have known about her uncle’s plans when he’d kissed her.
I cannot think. I am tired and bone weary with grief.
“Gus, I can’t give you an answer tonight. I am not in any condition to make such a life-changing decision. When we reach our final destination, wherever that is, then we can talk further and settle the question of your marriage proposal.”
Who knew? Maybe a few days travelling with her would cure Gus of any foolish notions of making her his wife. Then again, it may not.
“Alright. I shall go downstairs and see what supper we can find. A good night’s sleep will help us both.”
After Gus was gone, Evangeline remained seated on the bed. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she lay on her back, intending to grab a few minutes sleep before he returned.
When he did return, Evangeline was roused from a deep slumber to find him bearing two bowls of stew and a small loaf of bread. She rolled over onto her side. “Hmm. It smells delicious. Is that cotriade?”
He bent and placed a soft, tender kiss on her cheek. “Yes, Mademoiselle Sleepyhead, it is. Come and eat.”
