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A few seconds ticked by before she relented. "Jude. You must see that we are incompatible."
"I do not."
"But you are older than I and—"
"I am thirty years old. Your friend Mr. White is twenty-seven, I believe."
"Oh. Mr. White. Yes. Well, I suppose you seem much older than he."
"Indeed I do."
"And you are so very different. And while I truly appreciate you stepping forward to assist me, I wish to explain my plans."
"Your plans?"
"Yes." Nodding, she folded her hands together and began to pace a short path across the stones and back. "I do not expect there to be a scandal. And if there is not a scandal, then there is no reason to proceed with this charade."
"But there may very well be a scandal. Or a babe, at least."
Her body jerked to a stop, and her hand opened against her stomach. "No. I'm sure there's not."
' "You've bled?"
"My God, how can you speak of such things?"
"I've spent a great deal of time with women who concern themselves with the subject."
"Well, I do not normally concern myself with such topics and do not wish to speak of it. Not with you."
"I understand. But you may always speak openly with me. If you have any questions, anything that you've wondered about, do not hesitate to ask. You're an intelligent woman, Miss York. You must be eaten up with curiosity."
"About what?"
"About men and wickedness."
"No!" she gasped. "No, I am not! And regardless, I have no intention of marrying you, so it would be entirely inappropriate."
Jude stepped closer, arms burning with the impulse to touch her. He fisted his hands tighter. "How about we strike a deal? I will step aside with grace and goodwill if your wishes prove true. Despite my heartbreak, I will smile and kiss your hand and bid you farewell. But in the meantime, we will be betrothed. Truly."
"But. . . but I don't even like you."
"Truly, Miss York, can you not at least pretend I might have tender feelings?"
"I'm sorry! I'm only being honest. And what do you mean, 'pretend'?"
"Pretend. That you like me. That you trust me. Pretend that you may speak your most intimate thoughts. "Tis all I ask."
Head cocked, she stared at him with a frown. "Have you no pride?"
"Ha. On the contrary. I have far too much. Why, look at me. Who am I to presume to court you? A big, ugly bastard son of a French courtesan? How could I possibly win your heart?"
Though he grinned to soften his words, Marissa looked more upset than ever. She didn't seem to realize that he'd drawn close enough to see her expression clearly, despite the dark.
"Do not look so sad for me, Miss York."
"I don't think you're ugly."
"Yes, you do."
