Acutely aware of him scowling at them from across the room, Rebecca smiled at the two gentlemen and did her best to be charming. If her smiles were a little wider than usual and her laughs a little louder, surely it had nothing to do with the knowledge that Daniel was grinding his teeth into dust from the effort to keep from hauling her out of the tavern and away from these gentlemen.
Perhaps it was petty of her to be pleased at his suffering. He had caused her far more pain, more times than she could count. If he wanted her for himself, they could end this farce now.
But he didn’t. Not as a wife, anyway. And if it hurt his pride to discover there were men who felt differently—men who were interested in Rebecca with or without a five hundred pound dowry, men who wished to buy her meals and get to know her over a glass of wine—then it was a good lesson for them both.
She’d been shut up in that dark castle for so long that she’d forgotten her own worth. Her heart lifted. Shecouldfind a husband. Shediddeserve happiness.
From this day forward, she wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Chapter 9
Daniel slumped into a wingback chair in the dark corner of an unused parlor. Ghostly whispers rustled in the rafters overhead. For once, the drafty stone and menacing shadows of Crowmere Castle matched his mood perfectly.
Rebecca was going to get married.
Perhaps not to either of the insipid greenhorns from the village tavern, but he could no longer pretend that no matter what happened in his life, Rebecca would be somewhere out there, exactly the same as she’d always been.
It wasn’t that Daniel had expected her towaitfor him, precisely. He had been cruel to her. Twice. Her life was her own. And he would never make her promises he couldn’t keep.
She deserved better.
The surprising thing wasn’t that Rebecca had options. It was that she was still unmarried. He could not credit it. If she had bothered to step out-of-doors once or twice over the past few years, some handsome villager would’ve snapped her up long before now.
Daniel would have, if he were a country gentleman. Hell, he’d be tempted to even if he weren’t a country gentleman. He rubbed his temples. If only Rebecca were suited for London life! But she didn’t evenlikethe city. Her dream home was a cliffside view of a dangerous smugglers’ cove in the middle of nowhere.
Still, he couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to have her for his wife. Rebecca’s bloodlines weren’t terrible—no matter what Daniel’s grandmother might claim—and besides, he didn’t give a rotten fig about any of that nonsense.
He liked her for her. He always had.
Yet no matter how hard he tried to protect her, he would never truly be able to keep her safe. He could give her his name, shower her with all the finery she might desire, but the one thing he could not do was control the tongues of others.
If Lady Octavia chose to make Rebecca’s life hell, it wouldn’t stop at merely barring her from Almack’s. A few well-placed words from the dowager, and no society hostess wishing to remain in her good graces would dare invite Rebecca to so much as a tea.
While Daniel was in convocations or visiting tenants or at Parliament, where would that leave his wife? At home alone. Day in and day out. Wishing she were back in Delmouth, where at least she had ghosts to keep her company. His muscles tightened. Rebecca would be bored, at best. At worst… hurting. Miserable. Resentful.
That was not the sort of union either of them desired. She would begin to hate him for plucking her from a world she loved and forcing her into one she despised. He would hate himself for the same reasons. They were all wrong for each other.
An unselfish man would put her needs first. If Daniel truly wished to be her friend, he should be doing everything in his power to ensure her future happiness. He absolutelyshouldbe helping her find a quiet country husband, just as she had asked.
No matter how much it killed him.
Because, much as he might like to, he couldn’t give Rebecca what she wanted. Or even whathewanted.
He was going to have to let her go. Stand back and watch her wed some tanned, muscular farmer.
In all probability, this might be the last time he and Rebecca ever saw each other again. She would be a wife, perhaps a mother with a brood of happy children, living in the cottage above the sea she’d always dreamed of having.
And he would still be a viscount. Throwing giddy soirées full of people he didn’t care about. Wed to a perfect society wife whom he never saw outside of the ballroom, because that was how well-bred marriages worked. Father to a spare and an heir that he would likewise never glimpse, because the aristocracy left the raising of children to governesses and nannies.
Delightful. He could hardly wait.
He pushed himself up from the leather chair and out of the empty parlor. If these were the last days he’d share with Rebecca, then he wished to make the most of them. Even if it meant doing so as friends.
After all, that was why he’d come to Crowmere Castle, was it not? To beg for her friendship?
A sigh scratched from his throat. With a woman like Rebecca, friendship would never be enough.
But it was all he was going to get.
