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“In theory.”
“What?”
“In theory you wouldn’t, but you’re a titled lord, and eventually you’ll need to dance attendance upon the demands of your title.” She plopped down onto a mound of straw and drew one of her boots toward her. “You’ll have to marry and set up a nursery, and…” She swallowed around the sudden ball of emotion in her throat. “…and you’ll be fantastic at that. Women like me will fail miserably. I’m not certain I’m destined for normal society mores.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. At the age of ten, you probably didn’t believe you were destined to fly either, yet here we are.” He cocked an eyebrow in challenge.
Oh, dear God. A silly little flutter went through Anne’s heart. If she didn’t leave now, she might do something foolish… like fall for him. That was the last thing she wanted. “I am too much of a risk for you, Benedict. The sooner you realize that, the happier you’ll be.” When his mouth opened and closed like a caught fish, she rushed onward. “We need to go.” No, she wasn’t looking for marriage, but she wouldn’t say no to another round of bed sport. No matter how good a man was, he was just a man, and he’d take away her ability to captain her own existence. That’s how life in this world was.
And it wasn’t for her.
Which was why it was so important she make that upcoming flight and win the wager.
This was one of the reasons why he considered everything in life a risk and why he’d spent the bulk of it hiding behind fear. This rejection when he would have done the right thing.
Benedict shoved the fingers of one hand through his hair while Anne climbed down from the hay loft. Bloody hell. He’d ruined her with a half hour of insane passion; there was no denying that, yet she’d turned him down flat when he would have offered for her. He both respected her for that and held a thread of annoyance for her.
Didn’t she realize what a precarious position she could land in?
“Are you coming, Worthington?” she called from below.
“Yes, of course. Just gathering our gloves.” As he collected the kid accessories from the hay, he frowned. The risks and repercussions from what they’d just done went round and round through his head like ponies on a loop.
Anne could become pregnant. If she didn’t marry him, any shred of her reputation she clung to would be tossed to the wind. And if she still refused him, what would happen to her? Already, her relationship with her parents was tenuous. He couldn’t see Doverton allowing an increasing and unmarried daughter to remain beneath his roof. Would she be forced into the gutter, hoping for pity from strangers? Worse yet, what would become of the child? His child. Dropped at an orphanage, unwanted and uncared for?
His stomach heaved. Not if he could help it, yet Anne was independent and stubborn. She’d no doubt either try to face life alone or would never tell him if she were in trouble. Admirable traits on one hand but devastating on the other. After donning his gloves, he retrieved his collar, cuffs, and cravat, and then scrambled down the ladder and joined her as she exited the barn. “Here.” He offered her gloves. There was one thing bothering him. “At the end there when we’d, ah… finished, I could have sworn you were crying. Are you hurting still?” Heat went up the back of his neck.
Good Lord, why was discussing anything having to do with coitus so embarrassing?
The look she shot him from over her shoulder brimmed with mystery and confusion. “I suppose when I experience high emotion that affects my whole body, my natural instinct is to cry. It’s what happens when I’m exceedingly angry, like when dealing with Mr. Davies, or very joyful, like when I’m piloting my balloon.”
“Ah.” There was a certain confidence knowing his performance fell somewhere in the middle. He wound the cravat about his neck, tying it into some semblance of a decent knot. The cuffs and collar he stuffed into a waistcoat pocket. “But you are well?”
“Yes, of course.” She slipped on her gloves and waited for him to catch her up. “I feel more than ready to make that flight around Cranleigh.”
“On your way to winning that wager, eh?” And moving further out of his reach.
“That is the plan.” She gave him a grin that made his stomach drop as if they were soaring in the skies.
If she won the wager, she needn’t marry, but he couldn’t help but think it might be nice to have a wife if said woman were Anne. She made him think that all the dreck he’d been through in his life might be worth it if she were there at the end of each day, waiting for him with a sunny smile and adventure in her eyes and pure wickedness in the offing.
Even if she frightened the hell out of him at times.
As they walked from the barn and into the afternoon sunshine, he tried again to make things right as a gentleman. “Would you consider a trial engagement?”
Anne huffed in frustration, blowing at a curl on her forehead. “Of course not. As I said before, you are under no obligation to marry me simply because we came together physically.” She eyed him askance. “Did you offer for every woman you laid with in the past?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why am I different?”
“You’re different because you’re you.” It was as close to the truth as he wanted to go for the moment. “I’d like to shield you from gossip if I can.”
“While that’s a noble goal and I appreciate the sentiment, truly I can fight for myself.” She laid a hand on his arm that made his awareness of her ramp. “And it’s not as if I haven’t been fighting since before my brother died.”
“But you shouldn’t have to keep doing it by yourself,” he responded in a soft voice. “Eventually, by pushing people away to protect yourself and your future, you’ll find yourself alone. It’s not as pleasant as you might think.”
“Is that what happened to you, Benedict?” Her tone was as low as his had been even though they were alone as they walked the meadow toward the downed balloon. “Is being alone a product of living with fear?”
