Page 242 of From Rakes to Riches

“Which you have indicated you aren’t interested in at the moment.”

“You also failed to mention the sum of my dowry. Six thousand pounds! Or the fact that it would be mine should I fail to wed by my twenty-fifth birthday.”

He shifted his weight, uncomfortable beneath the weight of her stare. She was right—he hadn’t thought of her. He’d seen it as his duty to manage the situation because she was his ward, and it had never occurred to him to inform or consult her. Why would he when he hadn’t expected any of these things to come to pass? “Just as I failed to consider that I wouldn’t marry as outlined by my father, I also didn’t imagine you wouldn’t wed by then. I thought your reluctance was in the short term, as you acclimated to London, and that in three years’ time, you would undoubtedly be married. Unless you plan to reject every proposal you receive.”

“I might. Particularly now that I know I’ll have six thousand of my own pounds if I do.” She stuck out her chin. “But again, you discounted my right to know, let alone make choices. Howam I to make decisions about my life, about my future, when I am not fully informed?”

She stepped toward him, her eyes wide, her features serene. But she wasn’t entirely composed. A tension radiated from her, so thick he thought he could slice it like bread.

He flexed his hands. “I’d planned to tell you after the assembly tomorrow night, when I will know for certain if I will marry or not.”

“That is still a possibility?” She sounded surprised.

“It is.” Miss Goodfellow would be there tomorrow night, and he was going to ask if she would entertain marriage to him. He would be clear about why he was asking and his expectations that they would hopefully form a romantic attachment. At the very least, he expected them to be friends and behave as a married couple should. It was not the union he’d dreamed of, but it was all he could expect given the deadline his father had imposed.

In that moment, he realized he’d planned to afford Miss Goodfellow a courtesy he had not given Fiona—the truth.

Suddenly overheated, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair near the hearth. “Fiona, I’m sorry. I should have told you everything from the start. I didn’t know you then. I expected a young chit from the country who would be eagerly wed and removed from my responsibility.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, that you didn’t tell me after you came to know me, or that you assumed I would be a simple-minded automaton who would bend to your will. You try to not be like your father, but you are not entirely successful.”

Her words cut into him, inflicting a sharp, deep pain. Because there was a veracity to them. He had handled this—her—as his father would have. “Please don’t compare me to him,” he whispered.

“As a woman, I have been and will always be subject to a man’s whims—my father’s, my cousin’s, your father’s, yours.” Now she looked angry, her eyes blazing. “I am entirely dependent on whatever scraps you have for me. Until now. If you do not marry and I do not marry before I’m twenty-five, I have the chance to be independent, to own my choices, to decide my future. It’s the closest thing to a miracle I will ever see, and you wanted to keep all of it from me. I thought you’d grown to care for me. You can be so kind, so considerate, and you seem to realize when you display despotic tendencies?—”

“Despotic?” He flinched.

“And you rein them back. But then I learn that you’ve kept me ignorant of things that would change my life and my perspective, and I feel as though I don’t know you at all.”

He closed the distance between them and took her hands. “My father set all of this in motion to cause the maximum pain. I wonder if he somehow knew I would grow to care for you, that I would fail to marry because of the distraction of you.” He shook his head. “Distraction sounds terrible, but it’s true. You’re myward. I am not supposed to be attracted to you in the way that I am.” He let go of one hand and clasped the lower half of her braid between his fingers. Dragging his thumb down the silken coil, he couldn’t help but smile softly. “I am so sorry for not telling you. Please understand. Horethorne is my dearest possession. To lose it would be to lose my mother all over again.”

Her eyes glazed as she stared at him, and she stroked his hand with her thumb. “I know. This is an awful situation. As angry as I was to learn you’d kept this from me, I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done the same in your position.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Tobias.”

He sucked in a breath. “You said my name. Again. Please.”

“Tobias.” She kissed his hand again, keeping his flesh pressed to her lips as she said it a third time. “Tobias.”

“I just realized our names share three letters in common—all vowels. Surely that means something.”

She tipped her head to the side.

“What?”

“I have no idea.” He gripped her braid and moved his other hand to her back, drawing her against him as his mouth covered hers.

She put her hand on his lapel and slid it up to the side of his neck, her thumb moving from the front of his throat up to the underside of his chin. With a soft groan, he opened his mouth and licked inside hers. She met his thrust with a parry and slid her hand to his nape, her fingers tugging at his hair.

Tobias climbed his fingers up her braid and cupped the back of her head, holding her as he plundered her mouth. She responded in kind, clutching him fiercely and kissing him with a wildness he’d never known.

A tiny voice at the back of his mind told him to stop, but a stronger chorus urged him to take what she offered. What if they were caught? There was slim chance of that, for he’d closed the door behind him, and no one would disturb him at this hour unless he asked for assistance.

He slid his hand forward, under her arm, and found the swell of her breast. There was no gown or corset to deter him tonight, just her dressing gown and presumably a night rail beneath. Stroking her through the layers, he felt her nipple harden. He tugged at the tie on the front and slipped his hand inside the garment. Now there was just a thin piece of lawn separating him from her. He cupped her breast and kissed down her throat, encouraged by her soft whimpers and the insistent pressure of her fingers against his scalp.

Pushing the dressing gown off over her shoulders, he let it fall to the floor. His entire focus was on her breast as he tugged at the neckline of her night rail. It was wide enough to allowhim to pull it down, exposing her flesh so he could take her bare nipple into his mouth.

She gasped, her fingers digging into his flesh. “Tobias.”

He wanted more. He neededmore.

---