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“Even now,” he said firmly. “But I swear to God I did not embark on the deception for the purpose of coercing you into matrimony.”
“No?”
A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “No. I am somewhat familiar with your temperament, Elizabeth.”
She could not help responding with a small grin of her own.
“I will admit that playing the role of your husband gave me pleasure.” The absentminded smile on his face was all the more charming because he seemed unaware of it. “But not as much pleasure as being your husband in truth would give me.” He leaned forward. “I am very sorry,” he said simply. “I cannot apologize sufficiently for the pain my falsehoods have caused.”
She took a deep breath. “I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy.”
“I thank you.” He was watching her with something akin to hope on his face.
“But,” she continued, “I do not know if I can trust you. You deceived me so thoroughly—even if it was with the best of intentions.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I do not make a habit of deception,” he said stiffly. “Quite the contrary.”
“I know,” she murmured. “Please believe that I do forgive you and hold you blameless. And you have my deepest gratitude for saving my life. I wish I could somehow repay you.”
He scowled. “I want neither gratitude nor recompense.”
She swallowed. This was more difficult than she expected. She had come to regard him as a friend and disliked causing him any pain. “I hope that when we part in Kent we may part as friends.”
He gasped. “Part? Elizabeth, we cannot part.”
“Why not?” she asked coolly. “I will go to Hertfordshire, and you will return to Pemberley—or London, perhaps.”
His hands balled into fists in his lap. “You know we cannot do so. We have been traveling together for a week. Your reputation has been thoroughly compromised.”
She had expected this argument, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. “So now we must marry?”
He looked bemused. “Well…yes. Of course.”
She drew herself up straight, making her back ache. If only there were somewhere else she could sit on the benighted boat. “I do not accept that premise, sir.”
Now he was bewildered. Had he not considered the possibility that she would reject him? Again? “But… you must marry me,” he sputtered. “We-We have been…in the same b-bed!”
She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was on an open boat and not trapped in a prison cell, even if it did feel as if walls were closing in around her. “And do you intend to take out an advertisement in the papers to that effect?”
“Of course not!”
“I shall not tell anyone, and neither will you. Everyone who witnessed our inappropriate relationship remains in France. I think it unlikely that the gossips of Meryton have agents in Saint-Malo.”
Darcy shook his head. “I knew this would go ill for me.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “And if rumors do start—?”
The wind had grown cooler; Elizabeth shivered violently. “I will not make decisions about my future happiness based on a hypothetical.”
“But—”
She interrupted. “There are worse fates than remaining unmarried: marrying the wrong man, for instance.”
Mr. Darcy winced. “Is there another man you would—?”
She interrupted. “No, not at all. But the decision about who to marry is the most important decision a woman can make in her life. It determines the whole course of her future, including where she will live. A man might enter into it lightly; a woman cannot.”
“I am not entering into this lightly.” He scowled.
