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“I don’t think you dull at all, and you certainly don’t lack passion. But we’re not talking about passion; we’re talking about love, a different thing altogether.” She’d hoped what they’d done might change his odd ideas. Knowing that it hadn’t unsettled and disappointed her. “You’re perfectly capable of feeling love if you’d only let yourself.”
His jaw went taut. “And why should I? It’s a reckless emotion that only wreaks havoc. It’s called ‘falling in love’ for a reason, you know—because it’s as uncontrollable and unpredictable as falling. I’d be a fool to let myself be sucked into the whirlwind.”
“Yes, but whirlwinds can be thrilling, too. And marriage is far pleasanter between two people who love each other.”
He eyed her askance. “How do you know? From what you’ve heard, from what a lot of wild-eyed poets claim?”
She ducked her head to stare at the sheet. “I’ve seen how my sisters and their husbands behave when they’re in love. And I’ve heard how my parents were together.”
He gave a little mocking laugh. “My parents were in love, too. But it didn’t make their marriage easier, I assure you. All it did was give them an excuse for abandoning their responsibilities.”
“But if they truly loved each other…”
“I didn’t say they loved each other.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared off with the cool remoteness of a stranger. “That would have been too tidy, I suppose.”
Pain shimmered in his voice, ragged and deep, despite his efforts to hide it behind an expression of iron detachment. “As I told you, my father fell in love with a different woman every month. My mother…”
He swallowed convulsively, and she dearly wanted to reach over and cradle him in her arms, kiss away all his hurts. But he looked too unapproachable for that just now. “My mother left my father for her lover. Left me for her lover. She abandoned her family, separated me from my only brother, and ignored all duty, responsibility, and good sense because she fell prey to love. And all for a man who abandoned her within a year, according to my uncle.”
His gaze swung back to her, brimming with hurt. “So don’t ask me for love. I wouldn’t show you so little respect as to offer you that fickle emotion. Unlike my parents, I’m not blown this way and that by every storm of romantic feeling. What I offer is infinitely better—a secure future, a lifelong devotion to you and our children, the promise that I’ll always act in your best interest. What I offer is steady and dependable.”
“And very respectable,” she said sarcastically.
“Yes. I happen not to find that a dirty word.”
He looked so insulted that she softened her tone. “Sebastian, why can’t there be both? Love and responsibility. They needn’t be mutually exclusive, you know.”
“And you’ve deduced that from your vast experience, have you?”
She colored, then glanced away. “I was in love once, remember?”
“Which only got you into trouble.”
She smiled despite the gravity of their conversation. “I can’t believe you’d chide me for that. Especially when you worked so hard to make me fall in love with you then.”
“That’s not true. I was only trying to coax you into running away with me. You were the one who fell in love, and what did it bring you but heartache?”
She couldn’t bear to admit he might be right on that score, so she said nothing.
“And you learned that lesson yourself,” he went on, “or you’d have spoken of your suitors differently. You never said you rejected them because you didn’t love them. You complained about this character trait or that, but you didn’t speak of love. Because by then you’d learned the truth: that a good husband is more likely to be found among men of irreproachable character than among men who inspire some dubious emotion.”
That remark about her suitors hit painfully close to the truth. She hadn’t been looking for love among them. But was it because she’d learned her lesson? Or because she’d still been in love with him?
Still was in love with him. She groaned. Goodness gracious, what was wrong with her? After all that had happened, she was as much a captive to his perilous appeal as ever. And he didn’t even love her! For all she knew, he really was incapable of love.
She glanced up into his face, only to be met by a stark, needy expression that gave her pause. No, he was capable of love. But he seemed to fear it; he worried that if he gave in to it, it would leave him gutted and alone, as his parents had left him loveless and friendless.
So he sat there speaking of duty and honor and responsibility, all the while not quite able to hide his yearning for something more.
“What are you proposing then, Sebastian? A marriage of convenience?”
“No!” He gave the refusal so forcefully it sparked hope in her heart. “Not of convenience. That sounds more formal than I want. I do care for you, Juliet.” The melting softness in his eyes made her ache. “And desire you. I want a marriage where we can enjoy each other, keep each other company. Share a bed. I want that very much.”
She caught her breath. She wanted all of that and love, too, but that would have to wait until she could show him that he needn’t fear it. In the meantime, however, she would settle for his version of marriage. Because she truly believed it would turn into more eventually.
“Very well,” she whispered. “Far be it from me to deny you what you want.”
The relief in his face made him look positively boyish. “Then you’ll marry me?”
