and his jaw flexed, as if he were trying not to grit his teeth.
‘Miss Denby,’ he began again after a moment, ‘I don’t mean to seem overbearing or argumentative, but the very fact that you have not much associated with society means you are in no position to accurately predict its reaction. I have lived all my life under its scrutiny and I promise you, once Lady Denby has thought through the matter, she will agree with me that our marriage is the only solution that will safeguard the reputations of everyone involved.’
He paused and took a deep breath, as if armouring himself. ‘So you may assure her that I have done the proper thing and made a formal offer for your hand.’
If the situation had not been so serious, Caro might have laughed, for he spat out the declaration as if each word were a hot coal that burned his tongue as he uttered it. His obvious reluctance might even have been considered insulting, if her own desire to avoid marriage hadn’t exceeded his.
But then, as if realising that his grudging offer was hardly lover-like, he shook his head and sighed. ‘Let me try this again,’ he said, then reached over to tangle his fingers with hers.
Immediately, heat rushed up her arm, while her heart accelerated so rapidly, she felt dizzy.
‘Won’t you honour me by giving me your hand?’ he said. ‘I know neither of us came to Barton Abbey with marriage in mind. But during our brief acquaintance, I’ve come to admire and respect you. I flatter myself that you’ve come to like me, too, at least a little.’
‘I do like and … and admire you,’ she replied disjointedly, wishing he’d release her fingers. They seemed somehow connected to her chest and her brain, for she was finding it hard to breathe and even harder to think as he retained them.
His thumb was rubbing lazy circles of wonderment around her palm, setting off little shocks of sensation that seemed to radiate straight to the core of her.
She should pull free, but she didn’t seem able to move. So he continued, his touch mesmerising, until all the clear reasons against marriage dissolved into a porridge-like muddle in her brain. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the press of his thumb and the delights it created.
‘I think we could rub together tolerably well,’ he went on, obviously not at all affected by the touch that was wreaking such havoc in her. ‘I admire you, too, and from what I’ve seen of your Sultan, you are excellent with horses. You could run Denby Stud with my blessing.’
That assurance was as seductively appealing as the thumb caressing her palm, which was now making her body hot and her nipples ache. An insidious longing welled up within her, a yearning for him to kiss her, for her to kiss him back.
Without question, he knew society better than she did, and, for a moment, her certainty that she ought to refuse him wavered. She struggled to recapture her purpose and remember why marrying him was such a bad idea.
Unable to order her thoughts in Max’s disturbing presence, she pulled her fingers free, sprang up and paced to the window.
How could she become his wife and not let him touch her? Was she really ready to test the power of the Curse for a man who merely ‘admired’ her? Besides, the experience of their last two meetings suggested that her ability to resist him, if he did make overtures toward her, would be feeble at best, regardless of how tepid his feelings for her might be.
She could tell him why she was so opposed to marriage. But after his courage in rescuing her and resolutely facing the consequences, she really didn’t wish to appear a coward by admitting that it was the strong probability that she would die in childbed, as so many of her maternal relations had, that made her leery of wedlock.
No, the very fact that he affected her so strongly was reason enough not to marry Max Ransleigh.
Reminding herself of her conviction that Lady Denby could protect Eugenia, she said, ‘I know you make your offer hastily and under duress. If you will but think longer about it, you will agree that it isn’t wise to take a step that will permanently compromise our futures in order to avoid a scandal that will soon enough be overshadowed by some other.’
‘It will have to be some scandal,’ he said drily.
‘Only think if I were to accept you!’ she continued, avoiding his gaze in the hope that not meeting his eyes might lessen the disturbing physical hold he exerted over her. ‘I’m not being modest when I assert that a huge divide exists between Miss Denby, countrified, unfashionable daughter of minor gentry, and Max Ransleigh, an earl’s son accustomed to moving in the first circles of society. I have neither the skills nor the background to be the sort of wife you deserve.’
Before he could insert some patently false reassurance, she rushed on, ‘Nor, frankly, do I wish to acquire them. My world isn’t Drury Lane, but the lane that leads from the barns to the paddocks. Not the odour of expensive perfume, but the scent of leather polish, sawdust and new hay. Not the murmur of political conversation, but the jingle of harness, the neighing of horses, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. I have no desire to give that up for your world, London’s parlours and theatre boxes and its endless round of dinner parties, routs and balls.’
His expression softened to a smile. ‘You are quite eloquent in defence of “your world”, Miss Denby.’
‘I don’t mean to disparage yours!’ she said quickly. ‘Only to point out how different we are. All I want is to remain at Denby Lodge, where I belong, sharing my life with someone who loves and appreciates that world as I do.’ Someone to whom, she added silently, I have long been bound by a comfortable affection, not a man as disturbing and far-too-insidiously appealing as you.
Turning from the window, she said, ‘Though I am fully conscious of the honour of your offer, as I told you from the beginning, I wish to marry Harry. By the time he returns from India, this furore will have calmed. And even if it has not, Harry will not care.’
‘I don’t know that you can be certain about that,’ he objected. ‘If it doesn’t, and he marries you, he will share in your notoriety. Being banished from society is no little thing. Would you choose exile for him? Would he suffer it for you?’
‘Harry would suffer anything for me.’
‘How can you commit Harry to such a course without giving him a choice?’
‘How can you ask me to give him up without giving him a chance? No, Mr Ransleigh, I will not do it. I will leave it to ladies better placed than I to protect my stepsister and to Harry to settle my future when he returns. And lest you think to argue your position with her, Lady Denby would not compel me to marry against my will.’
Hoping to finally convince him, she chanced gazing into his eyes. ‘It really is more sensible this way, surely you can see that! Some day you, too, will encounter a lady you wish to marry, one who can be the perfect helpmate and government hostess. You’ll be happy then that I did not allow you to sway me. So, though I am sorry to be disobliging, I must refuse your very flattering offer.’
He studied her a long moment; she couldn’t tell from his face whether he felt relief or exasperation. ‘You needn’t give me a final answer now. Why not think on the matter for a few days?’
‘That won’t be necessary; I am resolved on this. As soon as my stepmother recovers from the shock, we will pack and leave for Denby Lodge.’
For another long moment he said nothing. ‘I am no Henshaw to try to force your hand, even though I believe your leaving here without the protection of an engagement is absolutely the wrong course of action. However, if you insist on refusing it, know that if at any time you decide to reconsider, my offer will remain open.’
Truly, he was the kindest of men. The shock and outrage and dismay of the day taking its toll, she felt an annoyingly missish desire to burst into tears.
‘I will do so. Thank you.’
He bowed. ‘I will send a note to Lady Denby, offering to call and tender my apologies if she permits. Will