Page 49 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“Because I will not let that cochon harm those I love.”

Sophie threw up her hands and stormed away, but paused in the doorway, watching them. Philippe went over to the window. Gloriana waited uneasily for what would come next.

At last Philippe said, “Julian’s final suggestion is that I should marry an Englishwoman of good birth and unquestioned loyalty.”

“Oh,” Gloriana said, and that was all. She couldn’t summon another word. Her heart plummeted.

Which it had done over and over, but it clambered back to the brink each time and waited, hopeful again. Stupid heart. How could she still want him for herself?

He intended to marry. It shouldn’t sadden her. He had every right to be happy, and if marriage would save him, so be it.

“This I do not accept,” he said.

That startled her into speech. “Why not? Surely that is better than dying on the scaffold!”

He turned from the window and faced her again. Fortunately, by now Gloriana had recovered her composure. Quietly, Sophie left the room.

“True, but many years ago, when I was a young man in France, I swore never to be forced into marriage. Did I not say as much at the ball?”

“Yes, yes, I remember.” She had dismissed it as mere talk. “But at the risk of your life?”

“I do not fear for my life,” he said. “I fear for my freedom and my honor.” His smile grew, and Gloriana’s heart squeezed with unrequited love. He had a devastating smile. Droves of women couldn’t help but sigh for him. He could choose one of them tomorrow if he liked.

And she would have to accept it and be happy for him. She couldn’t quite summon a smile, but her voice was calm enough. “But surely you shall marry someday.”

He took a seat in a nearby chair. “Perhaps, but not to save my skin.”

“Why not? There are abundant English ladies who would be happy to wed you.”

“Abundant fools, yes. I prefer my honor. But do not begin thinking I am such a noble sort of man.” His expression turned cold and intent. “First, I shall get my revenge.”

She shivered. She would not want to be his enemy. How strange that she had insulted his convictions frequently for years, and never once feared retaliation. He had provoked her in return, certainly, but never with the slightest hint of anger, showing only amusement or disdain. She had not realized how formidable he could be if he chose.

How deceptive his appearance—this polished gentleman in a snowy cravat and a coat of superfine, brushing a speck of dust off his lapel, who had beaten Hythwick without hesitation.

“And while I do so,” he said, “I shall get your revenge as well.”

“I don’t care about revenge,” Gloriana said. “All I want is my Book of Hours.”

He flicked a dismissive hand. “That is the easy part. It is a pity you told the world you do not always disagree with me. We must not give Hythwick reason to suspect we are working together. You must resume your behavior of the past several years. Do not run and hide when you see me in the street.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t hiding.”

He favored her with a flicker of the eyelids, far more disdainful than a mere roll of the eyes.

“You can’t read my mind,” she gritted out. “You don’t understand.”

His brows knit, but after a few seconds of what might have been genuine concern, he shrugged. So much for that.

“Philippe, be reasonable! I cannot suddenly pretend to disagree, once again, with everything you believe.”

“Why not? Think of it as acting a part. Your maid says you are a good actress.”

“I should appear to be a lunatic! Not only that, I began discussing the education of the lower classes because I need to find patrons for the school.”

“Very well, but you must continue to actively dislike me. Instead of running away, you must pointedly ignore me. When an appropriate occasion arises, find a way to insult me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can.” This was something she wanted to explain. “I have . . . I have turned over a new leaf. To have to revert to being as contrary as possible . . .” It was unthinkable and sickening.