Page 39 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“And I thought you promised to change.”

He shrugged.

Valentine could have happily throttled him. In a rustle of skirts, she stood from her chair. She could no longer pretend they were just two people, sitting together in front of a smoking fire, having a civilized discussion about an abstract future. Her nerves were too jangled. Her feelings too raw. She strode to the billiards table, arms folded across her midsection. She heard the leather of Tristan’s chair creak as he rose to follow her.

He wasn’t as uninterested in what she had to say as he pretended.

She turned to face him. His hair was rumpled, his untied cravat hanging low on one side and short on the other. He looked tired and more than a little defeated. “I’ve heard things about you, you know,” she said.

He didn’t appeared to be the least impressed by this revelation. “Oh?”

“Since we were discovered together in the conservatory last night, the entire household has been at great pains to inform me that you’re unreliable. That everything in life has been a sport to you. That you don’t mean the half of what you say.”

“They’re right,” he said. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She saw him wince, but soldiered on. “They’ve also told me you proposed to me merely because your father’s here. Because you wanted to make a show of having done the right thing.”

“And you believe that.”

“Do you deny it?”

Tristan was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know if I can,” he said at last. “Not in all honesty.”

Valentine’s heart sank. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do. My father had just exiled me and cut off my funds. Earlier he’d intimated that if I married and set up my nursery he would reconsider his decision.” His fingers speared through his disheveled hair once more. “It must have had some impact on my proposal, mustn’t it? How could it not have? And yet…when I knelt before you and asked you to marry me, I swear to you, I wasn’t thinking of my fortune. And I was certainly not thinking of my father.”

She exhaled an unsteady breath. And then she nodded. “I believe you.”

“But you believe everything else as well. All the damning truths about my character.”

“I would be a fool not to.”

“And you’re no fool.”

“No, I’m not, but…” Her words came out in a rush of feeling. “I’ve put my faith in you, sir. And I have precious little faith left to spare. Don’t you dare let me down, Tristan. Don’t you dare break my heart.”

Tristan stared down at her, stunned. “Do I have your heart, Valentine?”

Her mouth trembled. “I’m very much afraid that you do. Against all better judgment.”

He searched her face, his dark eyes lit with a fierce tenderness that made her pounding heart stutter. She thought he would embrace her. A stupid girlish fancy! But he made no move to take her in his arms. Instead, he lifted his hand to her face and set the back of his fingers, very gently, against the curve of her cheek.

It was the barest touch. A mere caress of his knuckles on her skin.

But he was close. So close that she could feel the masculine heat from his body. Could smell the seductive scent of his expensive shaving soap.

Her lashes briefly fluttered closed, her bosom rising and falling on a tremulous, indrawn breath.

“What a mad little creature you are,” he said huskily. “Didn’t anyone ever warn you about men like me?”

“Often,” she said. “And often.”

“It never occurred to you to listen?”

“I listened. My whole life I listened. Until yesterday…” Her words trailed off as Tristan bent his head and pressed his lips to her brow. They lingered there, warm and firm, for a long while.

And her heart stopped. It simply ceased beating. She had a vague, ridiculous notion that it had swooned into a faint. Indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure how she remained standing. At the touch of his lips, her knees had gone as weak and wobbly as a blancmange.