Page 101 of Make Mine a Marquess

Instead, she nodded. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

His eyes watched her. “But everything that happened afterward was true as well. I did miss you. Terribly. And our shared nights are unforgettable. I cannot stop thinking of you and our time together.”

He had somehow gotten closer. She could smell his cologne and his distinctive masculine scent and even feel the heat of his body. It was a devastating combination.

“I miss everything,” he said, his voice husky. “Every moment. Our conversations. Our backgammon games. Even our time fixing a warped door. And then there was you in my bed. We share a fierce passion that is rare and unforgettable.”

She turned away before her traitorous body took over. The pain she’d suffered before was nothing compared to the stab in her heart at that moment. He couldn’t treat her this way. Admitting to using her, then talking of romance and passion and more…

“You should leave.” She headed for the door.

“Wait! There’s something else I need to say.”

Her fingers lowered from the door handle, and she turned back. “I cannot imagine what else.”

He approached and stopped before her. He took her limp hand in his. “If you will not sit beside me, then I will do this here.”

Then, to her complete and utter shock, the Marquess of Landon knelt on one knee. “Phoebe, will you do me the honor of becoming my marchioness?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Phoebe froze, stunned and shaken. Seconds passed before she could pull her hand from Landon’s. She immediately felt the lack of warmth. His offer of marriage was staggering.

“You must be jesting.” She finally found her voice.

“Say yes.” His steady gaze bore into her in silent expectation.

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “No. Absolutely not.”

Landon rose from his bent knee, his powerful body a hair’s breadth from hers. Despite everything, her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. Her physical response angered her more. “After all that has happened between us, do you honestly believe that I’d accept?”

“I can only hope you will consider my offer.”

“The baron has just been tossed into prison,” she pointed out.

“I understand,” he said. “You are worried about what Society will say if we become engaged quickly.”

“I don’t give a fig what Society will say!”

Anger bubbled in her chest. His selfishness was maddening. Did he honestly believe she’d forgive his sins with an offer of marriage? Or that she, untitled and unworldly Phoebe Dawson, would be so desperate to become a marchioness that she would just fall into his arms with gratitude?

“Aram was right. You deserve more. I love you, Phoebe, and I am willing to wait however long.”

Her heart squeezed. He loved her? How many times had she longed to hear those words from his lips?

A man who loved a woman did not use her, did not seduce her just to ruin another. That wasn’t true love. She valued herself more than settling for such brittle, shallow love. That emotion could never last. The Marquess of Landon had no idea what true love meant.

“Then you will be waiting a long time, my lord, because I’m leaving for Scotland.”

He appeared stunned, his brow rising. “Don’t go. Don’t leave for the wilds of Scotland because you hate me.”

“I do not hate you. Rather, I feel sorry for you. Too much has occurred for me to consider your offer of marriage. I wish you well, but I must find my own way. Good day, Lord Landon.”

She opened the door and sailed out, without looking back.

…

“She refused my offer.” Landon poured himself another glass of whisky and passed the bottle to Aram. It had been a week since his failed proposal and Landon was back to the isolation of his library. Once again, Aram had found Landon sitting before the fireplace, a drink in hand.