If she married Vane, she could bring her sisters home. Home. The prospect was more than a little tempting. She searched Vane’s face. As with the first time she’d seen him, the wordsolidcame to mind.
No one would question her decision, not when Willowhurst came with the marriage. She’d be mistress of the manor she’d once loved, but she would also be the wife of a man who clearly loved another.
And a woman who was overwhelmingly intrigued with a man not her husband.
The bit of cake she’d managed to force down her throat now sat like a coarse brick in her stomach.
He brought the horses to a stop, shifted the reins, and turned to face her. “Miss Wainwright”—he placed his free hand overhers—“we are, neither of us, living the life we expected, or even hoped for. But the hand of fate has brought us together.”
“The hand of fate, and the proprietress of a gaming hell.”
He winced. “Fair.”
She withdrew. “I was the one to request this meeting, and you have been open and frank.” Her eyes fell. “I-I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Might I take some time to think?”
Mr. Vane studied her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable.
“Of course,” he replied. “May I look forward to riding with you again during your sisters’ next lesson?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Very well, then.”
A gentlemanly response. A good, honest, practical man. He was exactly what she’d wanted.
Yet her heart screamed,No!
