Page 2 of The Secret to Swooning
The way he said it… she almost believed him. “I’m two and twenty and have yet to receive a single proposal of marriage.” She sighed, hung her head. “I think I’ll ask Father to arrange a marriage. Anyone will do.”
“No.” His hands flinched on her shoulders.
“And why not?” She shrugged out of his hold. “A ladymustmarry. To marry the right man is my only purpose. And I have proved a failure at that.”
He cleared his throat. “Ann?” He cleared it again, said her name a second time with less hesitation.
“Yes?” More of a sigh than a word.
“You must marry me.”
So direct. No jokes, no quips. Just simple words on lovely lips that shocked her to her core. She’d never heard him speak so before.
She lifted her head slowly to study him. “You jest, surely. You should not.”
“I do not.” He wore an obstinate expression that ran a skittish pulse up and down her spine.
She stood and darted away from their bench.
He followed, his warmth a heavy shadow at her back. “I do not tease, Ann.”
“You alwaysdo.” She stopped and pressed trembling fingers into her temples where her head had begun the steady percussive rhythm of an army’s march toward danger.
“Not this time.” He stopped too; standing closer than he’d stood since the night they’d agreed to forget. But his tall, strong body pressed so near flooded her with memories—the texture of his lips beneath her own, the taste of his tongue. A kiss that had felt like freedom. The thrill of pursuing her own desires for the first time in her entire life and finding she liked it, adored it. Adored him.
She stepped away and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her belly. Protection from her own desires. “Thank you, my lord. Everette.” The first time she’d used his name, and it came out as little more than a whisper. “We would never suit. I have dedicated my life to behaving, and you’re a rake—”
“No need for insults.” His tone was light, but his shoulders were as rigid as a castle wall. “Say my name again, Ann.”
She shook her head. “And rakes donotbehave. I am the very picture of obedience, and my parents require a proper, well-behaved husband.”
“They’re not the ones marrying him.”
She looked down the path, unable to meet his gaze.
“You’ll always do what they say, then? What do you gain by marrying a man you do not love? Tell me.”
“Love is for people who are free to do as they please.”
He stepped forward, pressing close once more. “Money does not constrain you.”
“No, but—”
“And social position is not an issue. I’ll be an earl one day.”
“No.” The word tore through her throat, and her hand clutched at her chest. “I cannot be anyone other than who I am.”
“Be who you are and marry me.”
She backed away from him, shaking her head. “I cannot be anyone other than the obedient lady you see before you. I-I am sorry. I must leave. I have another social obligation this afternoon. Mama is dragging me to a tea with the Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” She dipped a curtsy and turned her back on him, though her eyes burned with unshed tears.
She had received a proposal today, but not from the man she’d chased for a year. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Hateful thing.
She’d never dreamed Dartmore would propose. They were too dissimilar, and her path had already been chosen for herlong ago. Part of her leapt with joy, ached to turn around and run into his arms. A dream she’d never allowed herself had come true. Dartmore had thrown wide a new path, beckoned her down it with promises of pleasure, excitement, and freedom.
But what would happen if she followed him?
Her parents—the only people who had ever smiled at plain, unpretty Ann—might never smile at her again. So she turned from the dangerous path calling out to her and continued as she always had, marching steadily toward the type of man—proper and pristine—who would suit her parents perfectly and guarantee their smiles and love for the rest of her days.
