Page 78 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“Carrington?” he said, his eyes going wide. “God above, your brother would wed ye to Carrington?”

He got to his feet, cursing under his breath and Grace knew that was it. Of course he would know Mr Carrington. He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the region. He’d not want anything to do with her now.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said, her heart returning to the bleak place that had sent her tumbling from a carriage in the dead of night and running into the icy darkness. “I ought not have involved you in my troubles, but… if you could just give me directions to the nearest town, and then perhaps I could—”

He swung back around, staring at her in consternation. “What?” he said, so obviously bewildered that her heart skipped a little with hope. “Ye think I would leave ye to the wolves? To a man like Carrington? Good Christ, what manner of man do ye think me?” he demanded, so obviously offended she could only stare up at him and fight the sudden urge to fling herself into his arms.

This man, whom she did not know and who owed her nothing, had shown her more compassion in the past hour than she’d known her whole life.

“I think you quite the kindest person I’ve ever met,” she said.

Pity filled his eyes, and he returned to crouch before her. “That’s likely the saddest thing I ever heard,” he said, with such regret in his voice her throat tightened.

He rubbed a hand over his face and let out a long, slow breath.

“Mr Carrington is a cruel man,” he said, after a pause. “I’d not give a dog into his keeping, let alone a woman.”

Grace made a pitiful sound as the breath she’d been holding escaped her and he smiled, shaking his head.

“I promised ye safety and I meant it. Trouble is, how to achieve it.”

She swallowed, praying he’d come to the same conclusion she had, though the idea filled her with both alarm and anticipation.

He looked her in the eyes and Grace felt herself held in the depths of that warm gaze, in the promise of safety she saw there.

“There’s only one way I can keep ye safe, lass, for your brother owns ye, body and soul, and I can do nothing to stop him if he discovers ye here with me. There’ll be the most god-awful scandal too, for ye must know your reputation will be ruined if anyone found out you’ve been alone with me this night.”

She nodded, her breath coming fast.

There was a long, taut, silence, and she sensed he was fighting some internal battle.

“I’m no prize, Miss Honeyfield,” he said quietly. “I’m no gentleman, and I’m a deal older than you myself. I can’t afford to give ye fine dresses and jewels. You’ll be an outcast to your own kind, and no doubt folk of my station won’t welcome ye. Neither fish nor fowl, ’tis what you’ll be….” He hesitated, before getting to one knee and taking her hand between both of his. “But I promise ye safety, and that I’ll never lay a hand on ye in anger, nor ever touch ye if ye don’t welcome it. I’d do everything in my power to make ye happy, though I know that isn’t much to offer a lady like yourself, but, if ye think ye might bear it, to keep ye safe, I’d be honoured if ye would marry me, Miss Honeyfield.”

Grace stared at him, searching his face for any signs of duplicity or guile, but found nothing but the doubt in his eyes, and she realised he expected her to reject him. Was she a fool to trust in his promises so easily? Yet, what choice was there, and it appeared her heart—foolish thing that it was—had not given up hope after all.

“Yes,” she said, breathless with the enormity of what she was doing. “Yes, I would marry you, Mr Hardy.”

His astonishment was enough to make her lips curve upwards, and then as he realised she would not change her mind, he smiled. The expression transformed his face. It was devastating, that smile, and Grace felt quite winded. He was a handsome man, her husband-to-be.

Her husband!

Good heavens.

“I’m four and thirty,” he said, sounding a little defensive.

“I’m three and twenty,” she replied, amused that he might worry about his age.

She’d never in her life seen such a virile specimen of masculinity. That she would soon be this man’s wife sent heat rushing beneath her skin. He let out a breath when she told him her age, and she knew it relieved him to discover that she wasn’t quite as young as she looked.

“The place won’t be what ye’re used to,” he said, the doubt creeping back into his eyes. “And I’m not a sociable fellow myself. I live quietly and—”

Grace took the hand that held hers. Though her heart was beating frantically in her chest, she dared to hold it to her cheek and smile at him. “I am honoured by your proposal, Mr Hardy, and to have a home of my own and a man who will be kind to me, that is all I have ever dreamt of.”

He was staring at her, his eyes dark, a slight flush of colour at his cheeks.

“I’d think this was just a dream,” he said, with a huff of laughter, “except I’ve not the imagination to conjure a woman as beautiful as you.”

Pleasure unfurled within her at his words, and then all her fragile hopes shattered as a heavy fist pounded at the door.