Page 12 of His Grace, the Duke
Tom
“Tom—wait—”
Tom shrugged out of Marianne’s reach, his feet moving him swiftly towards the front door. “I have to go.”
From the moment he stepped foot in Marianne’s townhouse, it felt like he’d become trapped in some strange dream. She’d been so anxious that he stay, offering him tea, then luncheon. The table was already set for two... and those pale blue eyes were open wide, pleading with him for his continued company. He figured it was the least he could do to repay her kindness for bringing them to London in the dead of night.
It was clear Marianne had something on her mind. After his third refusal of a second cup of tea, she finally admitted the truth: She’d lied to Rosalie at the ball and told her they were engaged.
All the pieces of the previous night clicked together with a violence, nearly making him dizzy. That haunted look Rose gave him. The way she recoiled and ran. The tears in her eyes. Without even realizing it, Tom had given her as much of areason to flee as Burke, leaving them both scrambling to chase after her.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Marianne cried, following him down the hall, one hand clinging to his uniform.
Tom growled and spun around, jerking his arm free of her touch. “Are you really so obtuse? You told Miss Harrow we’re engaged. We arenotengaged!”
Marianne stepped back as if his words were a physical blow. “Why are you being so hateful?” she whispered, raising one hand to press over her heart. “This isn’t like you, Tom.”
Tom dragged a hand through his unruly curls. “Christ, Mari. You’re telling people I proposed to you. Ineverproposed to you.”
A small smile flashed on her lips. “Well... that’s not entirely accurate.”
“Fine, but I have not proposed to you in many,manyyears.” He leaned his face down towards hers. “And if you’ll remember, the one and only time I everdidpropose, you said no.”
“Ask me again.”
The words shot through the air, knocking Tom breathless. A strained moment stretched between them as they stared into each other’s eyes.
He took a shaky breath. “Mari—”
“I mean it, Tom. Ask me.” Her hands fluttered out to grip his arms, stopping him from turning away. “I know you feel what there is between us. I know you want me too. I wrote to you, and you came. You said such beautiful things, Tom. I knew then that you must still love me!”
He groaned. This was an unmitigated disaster. Nothing she said was untrue, exactly. Hehadtraveled to London expresslyto visit her. But she’d completely misunderstood his purpose. He apologized for his resentment and wished her well.
Nothing in his tone or manner should have encouraged her to think he wanted anything more than a clean break at long last.
“Marianne, that wasn’t—”
“I know you have a softness for the girl,” she went on. “She’s sweet and innocent. A rose as lovely as her name.”
He grimaced, surprised by how much he disliked the sound of Rose’s name uttered from Marianne’s lips.
“But she is a passing fancy,” Marianne pressed, raising a hand to cup his face. “You will soon forget her. For what you and I have is so much more. We have a connection, Tom. Your spirit is bound with mine. It has been for these eight long years. Was I wrong to end Miss Harrow’s suffering? Was I wrong to tell her what we both know to be true?”
He pulled her hand off his face. “And what is that?”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “That our love is for the ages. Whether now, or in a year from now, the fact will remain: We are meant to be together.” She leaned up on her toes, inching closer. “Tell me you can deny it, Tom. Tell me you can denyus.”
Her free hand tightened on his arm as she gazed longingly into his eyes. Eight years had done nothing to lessen her beauty. Her icy blue eyes, her porcelain smooth face framed by dark curls, those perfect apple cheeks blooming pink. She was beautiful... but it no longer caused Tom’s pulse to race. The intensity in her eyes no longer made him weak. The curve of her lips no longer called him to claim her. The feel of her in his arms no longer set him on fire.
She was beautiful, yes . . . a beautiful stranger.
In truth, the feel of her wrapped around him now was making him squirm. His gut clenched as he imagined Rosalie walking through the door, seeing Marianne so close. He stepped away.
“You’re determined to hurt me,” she said, voice trembling. “I see it in your eyes. I feel your resentment. You still blame me for Thackeray. You want me to prove my devotion by denial. I’ll do it—”
“No, Mari.” He felt suddenly so tired, so emotionally drained. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’ve always been so tongue-tied around you, such a fool. I don’t know how to just say what I mean and assure you that I mean what I say...”
“Love makes us do crazy things,” she replied.
