Page 50 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“I’m sure you can do it,” he said dryly, “if you try.”

“Perhaps, but it would be wrong.”

“Mistreating me was wrong, and you did it for years.”

“With good reason! And no, I won’t explain.” Perhaps she had an excess of pride, but who would wish to confess to such humiliation?

“Someday, perhaps, you will wish to do so.”

Never.

He raised quizzical brows. “We admitted our mutual attraction recently, did we not?”

“I didn’t,” she retorted.

He dismissed this with a flick of the hand. “It makes things easier between us, I think.”

“In what possible way?” she cried. “We admitted it five years ago, and look what came of that!”

“But now we are older and wiser. Neither of us, I think, wishes to ruin the other’s life.” He put up a hand. “Instead of becoming hurt or angry, think about it.”

She took a deep breath and did so. If they gave in to their physical attraction and he got her with child, they would feel obliged to marry, ruining both their lives. Or they would refuse to marry, thus ruining both their reputations. She choked back a laugh at the absurdity.

“Precisely,” he said. “The luck runs against us, either way. But we are forced to work together for the moment, so we should try to help one another until we have recovered the book.”

“In other words, we must do as you think best.”

“For your safety, and if you refuse to think of that, Lady Marianne’s. What do you suppose her brother will do if he finds she let you search his rooms and take the book?”

She hadn’t thought of that, but suddenly she realized what his plan was. “But you think it’s safe for her to do so?”

“Much safer, but still too risky,” he said. “I have asked her not to do so—merely to keep her eyes open.”

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Then why are you suddenly so friendly with her?”

“I have my reasons, which I do not wish to explain.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he put up a hand. “Leave it to me. I shall get the book back.”

“Another burglary, this time while Hythwick is in Town? That is foolhardy, and you know it. I don’t want you to endanger yourself.”

“Because you believe it will be your fault if I am caught,” he said.

“No, I don’t wish you to come to harm for any reason,” she cried. “For Sophie’s sake, for the children’s, and—” And for mine, but she couldn’t confess that. “And for your own.” She paused. “I’m not your sister or even your friend. It’s wrong that you should come to harm because of me.”

“I shall not be harmed,” he said. “Later, when this is over, we shall laugh together about it.”

She doubted that, but she must be more considerate of him. A sword of Damocles hung over his head, and he didn’t even like her, and still he was doing his best to help her.

She should be kind to him regardless. Five years of hating him . . . Good God, she must have been mad. She still hated him a little, when she remembered how he’d treated her that night, but it was so long ago. It was better to forget the past and move forward.

“We had a good conversation, walking together several nights ago, did we not?” he asked.

She nodded, clasping and unclasping her hands. They were having a good conversation now, too. Perhaps . . .

“Who knows, we may even become friends,” he said, his tone light.

Her heart froze. She dropped her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

Friendship would never be enough.