Her sister would never deliver criticism in soft words and phrases to make a confrontation less fraught. She would never affirm anagitated person’s opinion simply because she wanted to soothe their soul. And, if Eliza had been the one to propose to her husband she would have been truthful with herself—and with him—about her motivations.
Cassie, on the other hand, had deceived everyone, including herself.
What would he think of her if he knew?
Since she and Harbury had agreed to wed, they had never directly discussed the circumstances surrounding her marriage proposal. Not unless one counted Harbury revealing he’d been drunk when he’d agreed to court her.
As far as Harbury knew, she’d proposed only because she’d been concerned about her sisters’ prospects. And as far as she knew, he accepted for the same reason he’d swept her onto the dance floor—Vivianne was not available. In the case of their marriage, not only was Vivianne not available, but Harbury had a ducal duty to produce an heir, and he found Cassie pretty enough.
Plus, Cassie had told him she’d understood he would always love another.
She’d lied.
As she pondered the implications of her lie, the meat she’d eaten sat uncomfortably in her stomach.
Oblivious, Harbury chuckled to himself. “Eliza might not be as naturally helpful as you are, but I believe Adrian has found in her everything he wished for in a wife. I’ve never seen him so undone as he was at the Harbury ball, when he called your sister by a name clearly known only to the two of them, demonstrating they’d had a scandalous connection.”
She tilted her head and sighed. “My family has been embroiled in a series of dramatic events of late.”
“You’re as kind as you are helpful.”
“Pardon?”
“Notyour family’sdrama at all, was it?” He leaned back in his chair. “Icaused the worst of the scandals, and yet I left the task of coming up with suitable reparation first to your guardian and then to you. I should not have been surprised when Asquith demanded, on pain of death, I court you.Ishould have been the one to approach you with a courtship. I should have been the one to propose…not after a false courtship, but the very moment your voucher was revoked.”
Not an apology. Not exactly.
But she appreciated his effort, nonetheless. He’d told herwhyhe’d swept her into a dance without asking permission when he’d confessed to an attachment to Lady Pennington, but he had never taken full responsibility. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed him to take responsibility for what he’d done. “I’m not sure you should have proposed,” she replied.
“Why not? The crowd’s macabre interest would have instantly turned to jubilation. You and Eliza would have been spared mortification.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you told me you feel you could have done something that night to mitigate the damage.”
He nodded.
“But,” she continued, “I am equally glad you did not immediately ask for my hand.”
“Why?”
“Because if you had offered for me in front of all those people, I would have been compelled to accept. Instead, I offered for you in private, and, as a result, we were both able to make a choice.”
His gaze moved across her face. She lowered her eyes.
Yes, she had held back a crucial truth.
Nothing, however, she was currently willing to share. She could not tell him she’d wanted him then any more than she could tell him she feared how quickly she was growing to truly care for him now. Not, at least, until she was sure he felt the same.
She was vulnerable enough.
She was vulnerable to his smiles, which made her feel warm and light and trustful inside.
And she was vulnerable to her desire, which made her hot and needy and willing to invite him back to her bed before he’d made any declaration.
But she wanted not only him, butallof him, body, mind, and soul.
Every time she’d been on the cusp of demanding more, an apparition of the reason he’d never publicly courted anyone else, the reason he’d been available for her to propose, appeared in her mind as a warning.
The very-much-alive Lady Pennington.
