Page 60 of A Dangerous Engagement

Didn’t special licenses take some time to get?

Mr.Ratley was walking back down the path toward her. The fraud. He knew exactly what was in that letter. He had not only read it, he had written it.

She pasted a smile on her face.

“Was it good news, my love?” He smiled just as sweetly as she’d ever seen him.

“It was. My father has given his permission for us to wed.”

“That is very good news indeed.”

“I suppose now you shall have to get a special license so that we may wed here instead of in London.”

His smile widened. “I have already acquired the special license.”

Her stomach sank lower.

“There is nothing stopping us from marrying this week, if I can arrange it with the rector.”

“This week? Why so soon? Should we not wait until things are more settled, until we can be in our own estate without the seriousness of the revolution weighing on our minds?”

“Darling, there is nothing for you to worry about.” He stroked her arm in a way that made her want to throw off his hand and rub every vestige of his touch from her skin.

“I am not worrying, but I would like the first few weeks and months of my marriage not to be marred by ... by such upheaval as may—will—occur after your plans are enacted.”

“Darling.” Mr.Ratley gave her a look as one might give a small child who was crying over not getting her way—patronizing, with a pouty half frown. “Isn’t it better to have a little time before I have to help with the revolution than to wait weeks, perhaps months?”

God, help me.She sent up the desperate prayer before turning on the bench to fully face him.

“Oliver, you are not so impatient as this. You wish us to have the best beginning possible, do you not? Now, think of how you will feel when the revolution starts. If all goes well, the crux of it will be over in a few days. We can get married in London with my family—or here, if you prefer—and begin our new life in the new republic. If the revolution takes longer than you plan, you would not wish to be thinking of your wife here at Doverton Hall, would you? Would it not be better to marry when everything is settled and there are no dangerous events to be planned and dealt with? We can start fresh after the revolution has been accomplished.”

His face was immobile, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Finally, he spoke.

“I do not approve of your reticence, but I shall think about what you have said.”

“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate your forbearance and wisdom. Also, I should feel very sad not to have my own dear parents at the wedding, as well as my most beloved sister, Elizabeth, and my other siblings.” She looked down and sniffed, hoping he would think she was crying and be moved.

She took out her handkerchief and wiped her nose. But Mr.Ratley made no move to comfort her, and there was only silence for a full minute.

She glanced up, but Mr.Ratley was stone-faced.

“I know you want your own way in this matter, but I must give it some thought. I will decide what is best.” His expression softened a bit. “Do not worry. All shall be well.”

She was glad he got up and walked away then. How dare the man treat her as if her thoughts and opinions did not matter. A cold chunk of ice sank to the pit of her stomach. How awful it would be to be married to a man who had no empathy or tender feelings for his wife.

Of course, she had been trying to manipulate him with false tears. That was wrong, and she felt sorry for any man who had to live with a wife who feigned emotion in order to manipulate. But if they were married, would he care so little about her feelings and opinions and wishes? Could he watch his wife, the woman he professed to love, cry and feel nothing? She shivered.

She was tired of this spy game. She wanted to go home, to feel safe, and to be comforted by someone who cared about her. Aunt Agnes was sweet, but Felicity always had to be careful not to upset her nerves. Mr.Merrick seemed kind enough, but he had made it clear that his priority was the mission, not her. And he could not comfort her, being an unmarried young man wholly unrelated to her. It would not be proper.

“I want my mother,” she whispered into the damp air. The clouds overhead were gray and threatening, and so were the very real tears damming behind her eyes.

God, help me. I don’t want to be killed by these insurrectionists. But I’d rather die than marry Oliver Ratley.

Philip had finished copying all the papers he’d taken from Lady Blackstone’s room by the time the sun was over the horizon. He hid the copies and the original papers in the false compartment in his trunk and managed to get a few hours of sleep. He had risen at ten, and now Lady Blackstone sat across from him in the breakfast room buttering a piece of bread.

“Did you write your letters last night, Mr.Merrick?”

“Yes.”