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"Marissa," Aidan bit out, and she finally saw the scorn she'd feared to find in his eves. "You sound like a silly, spoiled chit. A decent man has offered to help solve a problem that your thoughtlessness created. Perhaps instead of acting like a rude child, you could treat him with a bit of graciousness."
Anger rose up to cover her hurt. "I don't even know him!"
Aidan leaned toward her and pointed a finger at her chest. "Here is what you need to know: He's smart. He's decent. I've never seen him mistreat a woman. And he is willing to marry you and accept another man's babe as his own firstborn child without a moment's hesitation."
"He ..." She threw up her hands in frustration. "And what kind of man would do that? He must be a grasping, prideless fool who wants nothing more than to elevate himself with a convenient marriage!"
Edward crossed his arms. "Marissa Anne York, you forget yourself. Need I explain to you the kind of vile words others would use about you if the truth gets out? Your disdain is sadly misplaced."
Her anger left her as suddenly as it had appeared to prop her up, and she felt the full force of her brothers' scorn. Her shoulders slumped, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm sure he is a fine man, it's just that..."
"As these things seem so important to you," Aidan interrupted, "understand that Jude Bertrand is the acknowledged son of the Duke of Winthrop. Jude needs no elevation, Marissa. Not from the mined sister of a baron, certainly."
Marissa closed her mouth so quickly that her teeth clicked.
Aidan's own teeth looked ready to crack under the pressure of his clenched jaw. He shook his head in weary disgust. "You are no longer a child. You've made sure of that. You will marry Jude or you'll marry Peter White, but Mr. White will not make a very good husband with his throat cut out, I'm afraid."
"Aidan," she whispered, starting to reach for his arm, but he stepped away from her. "It's not fair. You'd never be forced to marry a girl who—" Horrified with what she'd been about to say, Marissa cut off her own words. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, his eyes went dark with pain, but he gentled his expression with a smile. "Life is unfair, little sister, but Jude is a good man. I wouldn't have it otherwise."
She nodded, knowing that was true. He finally reached for her, pulling her close for a tight hug before he kissed her cheek and let her go. Marissa wanted to cling to him, but she could see he was already far away, his eyes looking into the past. "If you'll excuse me ..."
He would take one of his long rides now, and be gone for hours. Her friends all thought his brooding irresistibly romantic, but Marissa couldn't share their admiration for his sorrow.
She stared at the closed door of the study for a long moment.
"I agree with Marissa," her mother said in a wobbling voice. "That Mr. Bertrand has a frightening appearance, and he moves like a thief. I still don't see why she can't simply marry Mr. White. He's lovely and handsome, and his sister is married to George Brashears. Do you remember Mr.—"
"She can't marry him," Edward cut in on a sharp note, "because he deceived her into giving up her virtue in a deliberate attempt to force her into marriage. Does that seem lovely to you?"
"Well ... if he claims to be in love with her ..."
Both Edward and Marissa glared furiously at her, and their mother finally lay back in the chair with a martyrlike sigh. "I suppose you must be right, Baron. Oh, this is all so difficult to accept! My poor family!" And she was gone into one of her swoons again.
Marissa turned back to Edward. "The acknowledged son of a duke. He's natural born then?"
"Yes."
She started to raise both hands to plead with him, then thought of what Aidan had said. She lowered her hands. "I have never even spoken with him, Edward."
"He's visited us four times, but if he doesn't make a pretty turn in the ballroom, I suppose you do not see him."
The awfulness of that truth swept over her like an icy breeze. Gooseflesh sprang up on her skin. And yet, what could she say? She liked to dance with handsome gentlemen. She enjoyed their flirtatious attention and the excitement of stolen kisses. And when there was no music or dancing to be had, she preferred that they disappear into their smoky male habitats and leave her alone with her friends.
It was no different for the men, so far as she could tell.
"I'm sure he is perfectly nice—"
"You'll find out soon enough. Jude will spend time with you this week. Enough time that no one will talk if a betrothal is announced a fortnight from now."
Protest bubbled inside her. She wanted to scream a denial. Fall to her knees and beg. Shout at the world to leave her be.
But her brothers were right. She was not a child anymore, not by even the most liberal definition. So Marissa folded her hands together and nodded. There would be time for another solution, if one was needed at all. This was not the end. Jude Bertrand was not her husband.
Yet.
Chapter 3
