Page 56 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
She glanced down at her hands. Her knuckles had turned white. “I must admit to having doubts regarding our suitability as a husband and wife.”
“You’re making much ado about nothing. We get along.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she hated all the doubts swirling through her. “Ah, yes. We are quite compatible when dining.”
He scoffed. “Aslyn—”
“I’m not striving to be difficult, Kip, but I fear we’ve fallen into a trap of doing what is expected of us rather than being prompted by any sort of desire.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back. “We’ve announced our betrothal. You can’t cry off.”
Where were the words of love, of want, of need? Why was he not leaning earnestly across the table, taking her hand and declaring he could not live without her? “Making an announcement is hardly a reason to go through with something we’ve begun to doubt.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Why? Why do you want to marry me?”
“My God, Aslyn. I’ve known you forever—”
“Is that reason to marry? I need to get to know you better. That’s all I’m asking. To go out with you tonight.”
“I don’t understand your obsession to intrude upon this portion of my life.”
She stared at him. “Intrude upon? I’m asking to share it.”
“But it doesn’t involve you. A man needs time that is his and his alone.”
“Then I shall grant you all the time you require. Consider our betrothal on hiatus.” Shoving back her chair, she rose.
He came to his feet. “You don’t mean that.”
“Indeed I do. I cannot—will not—exchange vows with a man who has a life of which he wishes me to take no part and considers me an intrusion.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
In silence she held his gaze, watching as frustration washed over his features.
“Don’t say anything about this to my parents as you’ll merely upset them when there is no need, because this decision of yours will not stand. Send word when you’ve regained your senses.” He stormed away toward the farthest reaches of the gardens where his parents were studying the carnations. He no doubt didn’t want them questioning his leaving without having a word with them.
She may have just had the shortest betrothal in history, but she couldn’t help feeling that her senses had not deserted her. In fact, they were more keen than ever.
She’d come to the park earlier than usual, in need of fresh air, sunshine, a cool breeze, the scent of flowers, greenery, evidence of life because she’d felt so damned dead inside after her row with Kip. She could not—would not—marry him. How was it that she’d ever wanted to? How was it possible she knew so very little about him?
She couldn’t imagine Mick excluding her from a portion of his life.
It wasn’t fair to compare the two, and yet she felt as though she was better acquainted with Mick than with Kip. From the beginning she’d sensed some sort of connection with the hotel owner, been drawn to him, had found him inappropriately waltzing about in her mind with his slow smiles and his intense gaze and his scratchy voice and his workman’s hands.
Sitting on a blanket beneath the shade of a nearby tree, she looked down at her sketch pad, surprised and relieved to discover she hadn’t drawn those hands when she’d been envisioning them in such exquisite detail. Last night they’d held her, spanned the expanse of her ribs, had urged her closer, and she’d welcomed the urging.
Ridiculous to give the man any thought at all when there could never be anything between them. If she married a man of questionable, immoral origins, she’d find herself cast out, her children not accepted by Society. Even the duke and duchess would turn their backs on her. She would see the disapproval in the duchess’s eyes, know she’d disappointed her, and in so doing disappointed her parents. Even from the grave they had influence.
She would not marry Kip, but neither could she turn her affections toward Mick Trewlove—although she did fear it might be too late for that.
“You’re quite the artist.”
With a little screech at the deep voice, she jerked her head around to find Mick crouched beside her, on the grass, the toes of his polished boots a fraction of an inch from the blanket as though he was well aware he was beyond her reach, that he wasn’t allowed to occupy the same space as she. Why should the circumstances of his birth label him, brand him? Why wasn’t he judged only on his merits, what he’d made of himself, his accomplishments? He was a man who had begun life with nothing and now possessed much to be admired. And she did admire him, more than she admired any lord of her acquaintance, including Hedley.
Looking a bit farther behind him, she could see the two maids and two footmen standing about, watchful, but not interfering. But then why would they think she wouldn’t welcome Mick’s nearness when she’d walked with him through the park before?
