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"I would not dishonor you that way, Marissa. I asked you to pretend we were truly betrothed, and I'll keep my side of the bargain at least."
Her face lost a bit of its stiffness as he spun her in a circle, just managing to avoid another couple. It was a slow waltz, thankfully, as he could not concentrate on their surroundings.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means that I seem to have assumed the role of stranger in the past week."
She watched a spot over his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"I volunteered to be used for your purposes. I understood what that meant. But I was foolish enough to think we'd become friends."
Now she looked at him. "I... we did. You're very kind. And funny. But you make me feel ..."
His heart burned at what she might say. "What?"
"You make me feel..."
His blood seemed to strain toward her.
"... ashamed."
The gravity she'd exerted over him was abruptly cut off, and everything inside him dropped into the pit of his stomach. "Ashamed."
"Only because I don't know how to treat you. I don't know what you are to me. Are we friends?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
"I see. Well, if I inspire shame, I suppose I should do the gentlemanly thing and end my stay with your family."
"Jude, don't. It's my fault. I'm only being overwrought, as you've said of me. We are friends. Or I hoped we were. And... and I've missed our conversations."
He didn't know whether to accept her words.
"I've made a mess of everything this past month," Marissa said.
"You have."
Her shoulders dropped, and in her defeat her lower lip stuck out in a seductive pout. She looked at him with shiny green eyes that widened with a deep breath. And Jude knew that if they did marry, he was going to be in very big trouble. He couldn't resist this.
"Will you forgive me, Jude?"
The softness of his name put a hitch in his breath. He concentrated on the waltzing for a moment, as if he were really considering his answer. Finally he offered a smile. "I suppose I will. I'd be more sure of it if you'd stop by my chambers tonight and ask me again."
"Oh, hush!" she scolded as her pout turned into a reluctant smile.
"On my honor, I won't tell a soul. We'll only talk."
For a moment, a certain tilt to her chin made it seem as if she'd consider it, but then she shook her head with a laugh. "You're an awful influence on me, Mr. Bertrand."
"I do what I can."
"If you really wished to talk, perhaps we might share a bite of supper later? Mrs. Framersham always lays out some lovely choices."
"I'd be honored, Miss York. Truly."
By the time he escorted her from the dance floor, Marissa was laughing and teasing that he was a passable dancer after all, and Jude's plans were back in full force.
