Page 92 of A Modest Independence

“Your reputation seems a good enough reason to me.”

“Rubbish. We’ll simply have to be more careful.”

“By sharing a private compartment all the way to Delhi? It will never do.”

He was right. She knew he was. And yet his pronouncement felt like a rejection not only of her travel suggestions, but of herself and the tenderness she bore for him. “Don’t you want—?”

“My God, yes. But we daren’t risk it. You know that as well as I do. If we continue on as we are, it will only be a matter of time before there’s more talk. Before your reputation is damaged beyond all hope of repair.”

“Mrs. Plank would claim that it already is. She’d say I was ruined from the moment we boarded the ship together in Dover. If it wasn’t for—”

Tom abruptly set her away from him. His blue eyes were no longer weary. They were sharp and clear, regarding her with an unsettling solemnity. “Do you believe I’ve ruined you?”

Her mouth tilted upward. “I don’t feel ruined.”

“It’s no joke, Jenny.”

She could see that it wasn’t. Not to him. “I know that, but I don’t understand how—”

“If you feel—if you suspect for even a moment—that our journey together has irrevocably harmed your reputation, then I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll redeem it,” he said.

Jenny’s breath stopped in her chest. She moistened lips that were suddenly dry. “How do you propose to do that?”

He gave her a wry look. “How do you think?”

As marriage proposals went, it was an unmitigated disaster. Especially when made after she had so passionately explained her need for more travel and more independence—and so eloquently expressed her lack of interest in the roles of wife and mother. Had it been a legal strategy, Fothergill would have decried it as being impetuous, poorly thought out, and destined for failure from the first word.

Tom couldn’t disagree.

This was what came of sharing kisses in the darkened cab of a Calcutta gharry thousands of miles away from the rigid certainty of his life in London. A man forgot how to plan things properly. How to strategize for a successful outcome.

As if a man could think at all while holding Jenny Holloway in his arms.

But this was no time for unfettered emotion, no matter how much his pulse was pounding and his stomach tying itself in knots. This was the time for serious business. For taking responsibility for his actions.

“I was the one who made the decision to join you on this journey,” he said. “I’ve no intention of leaving you alone to face the consequences of my rash actions. Even if that means I must marry you.”

Even if that means I must marry you?

Good lord, could he make any more of a mull of this?

“What I mean to say is that you may rely on me. If you feel the situation warrants it, I would gladly make you my wife.” It sounded a little better, but not much, Tom feared. He gave a rueful grimace. “More than gladly, obviously.”

Jenny gazed up at him. Her face was pale in the lamplight, her expression wholly unreadable. “But you don’t wish to marry anyone. No more than I do.”

“You’re not just anyone, Jenny. As for the rest of it, I know you’re reluctant but…” He was at a loss. She already knew how much he cared for her. To say anything more on the subject would be a gross miscalculation. Even a fool could see rejection was looming. There was no point in him making an impassioned declaration. No use in dropping to one knee. He soldiered on in a businesslike tone. “But in some cases, personal wishes are secondary to the demands of the moment. Especially where a lady’s reputation is concerned.”

“A lady’s reputation is a serious matter indeed,” she acknowledged. “And yet you must have known that mine would suffer when you decided to accompany me to India. I certainly knew it. I told you as much on the pier at Dover.”

“You did.”

“Then nothing has changed. Unless…” Her brows knit into an elegant line as she looked at him. Really looked at him. “Were you already resigned to marrying me when we boarded the ship to Calais?”

Tom’s heart hammered in his ribcage. “If it came to that.”