He hadn’t had time to think about the rest of the family, yet he should. In fact, if he hadn’t been wallowing in self-pity, he’d have gone to Wivenly House to discuss the situation with his aunt. “I have the power to make the arrangements, but the widow must agree.” He set his tumbler down, splashing brandy over his hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Sidonie.”
Though first he’d have to deal with the bane of his existence, Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse.
The next morning, which happened to be the seventh day since he’d seen her—Will was sure there was something biblical about that—he marched up the hill to Eugénie’s house. Knocked on the door and was admitted by the butler. Bates’s countenance barely registered any emotion but managed to portray his doubt about the advisability of Will even being here.
Will rolled his shoulders. Even the servants seemed to know he was on probation. “I’m here to see Miss Villaret.”
The butler bowed. “I shall inquire as to whether Miss is at home.”
How was he going to climb out of this cavernous hole he’d dug for himself? After a while, he opened his pocket watch. Quarter past ten. He’d been left to wait for over twenty minutes. Summoning up all the information he had about women, he’d be lucky if she saw him at all.
“My lord,” Bates announced, “Miss Villaret will see you in the blue parlor.”
A few moments later he entered a small room painted the same color as the ocean, to find her staring out one of the many windows. On a chaise were all the presents he’d sent during the past week, including the wilted flowers. A heavy weight lodged in his stomach. She was going to try to jilt him.
“Lord Wivenly, miss,” Bates announced before backing himself out of the room. “I shall be in the corridor if you require assistance.”
When the door closed, Eugénie turned. The tip of her nose was red and her eyes puffy. If she was this distraught, Will might still have a chance. He opened his mouth and shut it again. That part of his body had already got him into enough trouble with her.
“My lord.” She clasped her hands before meeting his gaze. “I have given our situation much thought, and I believe it would be better if we did not marry.”
The urge to drag her into his arms flooded him, but he forced himself to remain where he was. After a few moments, his voice sounded rusty as he asked, “Better for whom?”
“Both of us.” Her sad, brandy-colored gaze focused on a place over his left shoulder. “It is clear we do not get along.”
They’d be getting along a lot better if she’d been the widow he’d first thought her to be. Her chin became mulish as he stared at her and tried not to do or say anything stupid. “We . . . I have had some misunderstandings with regard to you. Given time, I’m sure we can work them out.”
She stared at him as if he was daft. “From the beginning you have had a bad opinion of me.” Eugénie glanced away for a moment. Her voice trembled. “Though you have sent many lovely things in the past week, you have said nothing of changing your belief.”
Bad opinion was not exactly true, but she wouldn’t look at it that way. If God was supposed to protect fools, he’d better start now. “I acted hastily in forming my estimation.” Will swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Please”—she shook her head slowly—“I cannot keep your gifts. Take them and go.”
The knuckles on Eugénie’s fingers were white. He couldn’t be wrong. She must care for him at least a little to be so troubled.
Another tack was needed. “We must marry.” When she didn’t respond, he played his trump card. “Or have you forgotten I ruined you?”
All the color drained from her face, but her stance was still defiant. “A few kisses . . . No one knows.”
Will beat down the primitive warrior begging him to take her in his arms. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer. “Even one kiss would have been enough, but you know as well as I, it was more than that.”
She shook her head again. “The fact remains, I am still a virgin, and no one need ever know about the night we met.”
Every nerve and sinew in him braced to do battle. He still wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that she belong to him. He just knew it did. The same way he knew he’d do everything it took to make her understand she was his. If Eugénie thought she was getting out of this betrothal without a fight, she could think again. He raised a brow. “Grayson knows, your friend Miss Whitecliff knows, and your mother will know.”
That did it.
Her jaw clenched and the fire leaped into her eyes as they snapped back to him. “You would threaten me with exposure?”
Will stepped closer. “No, but believe me when I tell you, mothers always know.” She opened her lovely, rose-colored lips, and he held up his hand. “Don’t ask me how they do it. I’ve never figured it out.” His next pace brought him within arm’s reach of her. “Perhaps when you are a mother”—of our children, he added silently—“you will tell me.”
“Do you not understand?” Tears filled her beautiful brown eyes. “I cannot marry a man who thinks I am a loose woman to be easily had.”
He rubbed his forehead. Well, he hadn’t expected she was going to make this easy for him. “I realized days ago that you are not. Grayson told me the truth, and I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since. That”—he waved his hand at the items on the chaise—“is what those were about.”
“Stupid!Don’t you see?” She brushed angrily at a tear trickling down her cheek. “You should not have had to ask your friend. You should have believedme.”
Good, better her yelling at him than weeping, though she seemed to be accomplishing both at once. “Idobelieve you.”
