Page 28 of The Gentleman Was Right
“Will they return soon?” the boy asked, his elbow bumping into Edward as he moved restlessly.
“I couldn’t say,” Edward replied, subconsciously mirroring the woman’s comment, even though he was reasonably certain they would never return.
He would never betray Violet by betraying her secrets. But he hated that he couldn’t be honest about the fact that he’d just met her or that he was worried about her.
The woman studied him for another second or two and then said, “What can I get for you?”
Relieved by the distraction of ordering, he asked for an ale and listened to the boy as he chattered endlessly. Was it really only two days ago that Edward had arrived? And was it too soon for him to return to London?
The allure of the cottage had waned now that it held nothing but the memory of her.
ChapterNine
Violet was more reluctant than nervous as she approached her father’s study. When she’d left Lord Greydon’s cottage, she’d been convinced that returning and taking a stand against Basil was necessary, but she was dreading it.
If she’d stayed, she might have allowed herself to be swayed into allowing Edward to solve her problem. It would be the height of insanity to trust a man simply because she liked the way he kissed. And the way he spoke to her. And the way he smiled. And the way he earnestly pledged to help her even after she told him no.
Ugh.She needed to stop thinking abouthimand do what she’d come to do—force Basil to leave. She was less than satisfied with her lack of strategy. Nothing had changed between her and Basil except the passage of time, so there was no reason to assume she’d affect a different outcome, but it was too late to change her mind, so she smoothed her hair, straightened her shoulders, and sailed into the room.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Basil said, looking up from his newspaper as if she’d been gone for an hour rather than half a year. He leaned back in her father’s chair and linked his fingers on top of his ostentatious waistcoat. “Does that mean you’re finally ready to marry?”
“I havenotchanged my mind. I shallnotmarry you.”
His gaze rose to the ceiling as he sighed dramatically. “Not sure why you returned then.”
“I returned because this is my father’s house,” she responded stiffly.
“So it is.” He made no move to rise.
“You have no right to be here.” She might have been shaking on the inside, but her words were unwavering. She wanted to be clear—absolutely clear—that he did not belong in her home. Not any longer. Not since she’d learned the truth about him.
“Hmm.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I had allowed you and Isabelle to remain unchaperoned after your father’s death? My mother kindly agreed to move in, and it only made sense for me to join her.” He smirked. “Once we marry, it’ll beourhouse.”
It would never be his.
“I do not require a chaperone.” She had tried to explain this to him before, and he had been dismissive, but she didn’t know what else to say except—“I just spent months without one.”
“That was rather irresponsible. What if something had happened to you?” He tsked. “Your father would not be impressed that you left with only Isabelle to protect your virtue. He wouldn’t want you two to be alone. You know how protective he was of you.”
She bristled at the mention of her father. He had always been kind when she’d seen him, and she had loved him, but she had no way of knowing if he’d known the truth of Basil’s character when he’d encouraged their courtship. She wanted to believe he’d had no idea, but she couldn’t deny that it was possible. As far as she could tell, her father hadn’t been the romantic sort, and he might have encouraged their marriage even if he had known.
The only silver lining of the past year was that she hadn’t married Basil before her father’s untimely death. Discovering Basil’s true character hadn’t done her any favors, but it had offered the potential for escape. At least in theory.
“No need to fret,” he said. “I’m happy to postpone the wedding as long as you wish.”
“I shall not marry you,” she repeated.
He nodded agreeably. “Perhaps you should take another trip if you’re not quite ready to be married.”
“Another trip?”
“You were gone for months. I assumed you left London?”
Her brows drew together. “You did not search for us?”
“Of course not.” He shrugged as if he wouldn’t waste his time. “It was quite clear you needed time away to grieve. I was confident you’d return when you were ready. I admit I was a tad worried about your lack of a chaperone and concerned about your lack of funds, but I felt I had no choice but to accept your wish for space. I’ve always appreciated your independent streak.” He smiled congenially. “We will marry eventually, it’s what your father wanted, but as I have told you, there’s no rush on my end.”
“I shall not marry you.” How many times must she repeat it for him to believe her?
