Page 13 of The Marriage Method

It.

Her leg, he meant. For surely it was obvious to him that it was the source of her discomfort.

She ignored her embarrassment. “My injury is none of your affair,” she informed him. “In any event, it will right itself with a little rest.”

“Rest awhile, then,” he said. “Give me a chance to find Pettiman. I’ll return this afternoon with any news. Our heads will be clearer. It will give us an opportunity to talk.”

Nell drew back from him, understanding what the subject of this talk was likely to be. She shook her head. “There’s really no need.”

Miles closed the small distance between them. “There’s every need,” he said with sudden intensity. “You and I still have an issue to settle between us.”

Her heart gave an uncharacteristic quiver. It wasn’t only apprehension. It was—

She didn’t know what.

She dismissed the feeling. This wasn’t the time to interrogate girlish palpitations. Miles wasn’t being romantic. Whatever method he suggested to settle the issue of having compromised her—and there could only be one method, she knew—it would be compelled by duty, not attraction.

“Mr. Quincey—” she said. “Miles—” Again she stopped herself, seeing a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion at the back of his gaze. She continued with an effort. “I’m not insensible to the issue you’re referencing, nor to its obvious solution. But believe me when I say that, where I’m concerned, such a remedy would be impossible.”

He studied her face, brows notched in a frown. “You’re not a widow after all?”

She bent her head. “No, indeed, but—”

“And you’re not wed already? Or engaged to be wed?”

“No, but—”

“Then I don’t see how there’s any impossibility to what I must propose.”

Propose.

The word was enough to make Nell’s insides tremble. She had no experience with men, let alone proposals. Not unless she counted the ones in the novels she sometimes read in the evenings in the privacy of her small bedroom in the staff wing of the charity school. Even that much was an indulgence, and one she could scarcely afford given the weight of her responsibilities.

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “My life is at the Academy,” she said. “I wouldn’t alter it, not for any inducement. I’m happy as I am.”

“So am I,” he replied with harsh candor. “But my happiness doesn’t matter any longer. This involves more than our own inclinations. We have our reputations to think of—and the reputation of the Courant. It’s already been negatively affected by my articles exposing Lord Compton’s crimes. A scandal like this one could damage it even further.”

Had he said anything even remotely sentimental, Nell might have found it harder to withstand him. But this…this was bitter truth, however painful to swallow. He didn’t want to join his future with hers. He didn’t want her full stop.

And she didn’t want him.

“Quite so,” she said with forced briskness. “Which is exactly why you must run Reverend Pettiman to ground and convince him he didn’t see what he believes he did. As for all the rest—”

“Nell—” Miles interrupted gruffly.

Her heart spasmed on an ache of regret. She couldn’t recall when a gentleman had ever before used her given name. It was an extraordinary intimacy, and one she doubted she would experience again.

“I release you from any further obligation,” she cut in before he could finish whatever it was he had been about to say. “Now please, sir, go and find Pettiman. And do see to the wound your cat inflicted before it festers.”

Miles dropped a glance at his gloved hand. “It’s nothing. She didn’t even draw blood.”

“No?” Nell directed a pointed look at the crimson streaks on the front of his waistcoat. “Then where did that come from?”

• • • • •

Miles followed her gaze. A jolt of alarm shot through him.

What in blazes?