Page 52 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
"It isn't," he argued, reaching for her hand. "We can leave for Scotland now, tonight, if you wish. I want you for my wife."
"Sheldon, I cannot accept a proposal given under this type of duress," she said, gently pulling her hand out of reach before his fingers could close over it. "I could not do that damage to your reputation, nor could I live my life wondering if I had forced you into an unwanted situation out of a misplaced instinct to rescue me from evils of my own making. I thought I had rearranged my stars, and it just appears that I have delayed them instead."
"Duress?" he repeated, a flicker of offense sounding in his ears. "You think I wish to marry you only just now, because of this damned letter?"
She turned her head, refusing to meet his eye. "I am already ruined," she reminded him, "if I do anything but return home at my father's behest. I had thought, perhaps, I might follow you to Scotland and live nearby as your friend or perhaps even as your lover, but that option has been taken from me with this cold and lifeless forgiveness."
"Nothing has been taken from you!" He crossed his hands over his chest, wishing suddenly that he were not naked. "You are just as free to do as you will today as you were yesterday and the day before. What on Earth made you think I would take you to Scotland and keep you as ... as some sort of mistress?!"
She squeezed her eyes shut, an errant tear escaping down the curve of her cheek. "It was only a thought," she said weakly. "If you do not wish me there, I will not go."
"I wish you there. I wish you in my house and my bed as my legal wife, Tatiana. How could you think any differently?"
"Then why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" she asked, still not looking at him.
It was a fair enough question. Had he even been certain he was going to propose before the confrontation he'd had with the Somers men earlier that day? He thought he must have been, but he'd had no concrete plans of doing so.
"I was going to ask you tomorrow, in the company of the others," he told her, though even to his own ears, it sounded tenuously honest. "I thought you knew. I thought this was the normal way of things between men and women of theton."
"I am more of a Society refugee at present than atondebutante, Lord Moorvale. I fear the retribution from my father if I defy him again. I used up all the courage I had on my first flight, and I fear nothing at all is left."
"There is plenty left," he said dryly. "So you would prefer to wed this baron of yours, then? To appease a family you feel scant connection to rather than stay with the man you love? Or did you not mean it before, when you called me that?"
"What did I call you?" she asked, startled enough to face him again. Her eyes were wide and glistening, the strange indigo ink of her irises appearing to swirl like pigment through her tears.
"Your true love," he recited with a frown. "You saw in your teacup your true love, me. I thought you said it apurpose. It warmed me to my bones. I believed it because I am helplessly in love with you. But I see now that it was just a turn of phrase. I apologize for my presumptuousness."
She appeared too stunned to formulate a reply, which at least gave him an opportunity to scoot off the bed and pull his trousers back on. She did not turn to watch him, still staring at the spot where he'd been, evidently stunned into stone. He could see more tears trailing down her cheeks, but could not stand the thought of her pity, nor of courting continued rejections here in a bed he would forevermore think of astheirs.
He turned quickly and grabbed his shirt from where it had been tossed, tugging it roughly over his head as he made haste to the door. He heard her say his name, so softly it might have been the wind, but he did not have the strength to turn, nor the ability to speak as the emotion in his throat grew ever larger. So instead he fled, much as she had done, from the expectations of someone he loved.
Chapter 25
Never had there been so gloomy a Christmas Eve—at least so far as Tia was concerned.
She wished dearly that for this one morning, Glory were still unmarried. It would be very satisfying to spring upon her before she woke with the urgent need to talk as Glory had done to her so many times. Alas, in the spirit of necessity, Tia dressed herself and descended the stairs—stepping over the squeaky one—to await her friend for breakfast.
It was, however, Heloise who appeared first.
"You're up early," she said with surprise, dusting something off her hands that Tia assumed was medicinal. "I usually have to be dragged from the bed this time of year. I was only awake to put the finishing touches on your star gift."
"Oh," Tia said with a little frown. "I had quite forgotten about that, to be honest. Has anyone found my star?"
"Mm, I believe the kitchen staff did," Hel told her, tucking a few loose strands of her bright red hair behind her ears and taking it upon herself to sit down next to Tia. "There are only two or three left to be found, I believe. Hopefully they'll all be uncovered before we get to the gift exchange. Poor Moorvale is quite put out by his failure to dominate the game."
"Is he?" Tia mumbled, lowering her eyes to the hands in her lap.
There was a pause, during which she suspected Heloise was squinting at her rather intently. "Has something happened?" she asked, in that sharp and abrupt way of hers, which used to infuriate their headmistress. "With Sheldon, I mean."
Tia inhaled deeply and exhaled in a huff, glancing once more at the hallway that led to Glory's bedroom. It might be over an hour before her dearest friend rose for the morning, and frankly, Tia was not certain she could wait that long. She turned to her once nemesis, whose eyes had once glinted with malice, and saw nothing but genuine concern reflected back at her.
"He asked me to marry him," she said, the words seeming to jumble and crash together as they fell out of her mouth. She said it and stared at Heloise as though surprised to have handed her this secret, horrible thing, and then she burst into tears.
"What in heaven," Heloise gasped as Tia collapsed forward, burying her face in her hands. "Of course he did, Tia! We all knew he was going to."
"No." She shook her head, her breaths coming short and stuttered, like a child's did when he was overwhelmed with emotion. "No, he ... he only asked after he saw the letter I got from home. He doesn't truly want to!"
"Well, that is complete nonsense," Heloise said in the firm tone of an experienced mother. "Tia. You've seen how he dotes upon you! He certainly could have timed his romantic gesture more appropriately, but he was always planning to ask. There, now ... don't ... well, all right then, I suppose." She gave in helplessly as Tia tipped sideways into the other woman's shoulder, desperate to feel any sort of comfort.
