His eyebrows hiked. “Do you?”
“But it is impossible, of course. You see that.”
“Jenny, what is it you are trying to tell me?”
“I . . . I don’t want to marry you.” She stopped short, shook her head a little as if to clear it, and drew in a shaking breath. “What I mean is,” she amended, “I don’t want you to marry me.”
“Are those not the same thing?”
She spread her arms wide. “I don’t want you to do something you will regret for the rest of your life. So, I’m setting you free.”
He tilted his head back and smiled. To Jenny, he seemed relieved. “Ah. I see. Well, that is very good of you.”
“Aren’t you relieved?” she inquired, puzzled at his nonchalance.
“Immensely.” He moved, peeling off his gloves as he took a seat.
Miles felt his body relax as he realized what all of this nonsense had been about. If he hadn’t exactly planned to propose marriage a week ago, he wasn’t gnashing his teeth over his impetuosity. In fact, he was quite looking forward to it. The idea of claiming her as his stirred something primitive and satisfying.
Maybe he’d intended to have her all along. He hadn’t foreseen that, or anything like it, happening when he’d first come to London. But he had to admit he’d certainly had no interest in anyone else, not seriously and not even fleetingly.
He had been so determined that this time, his wife would be a logical choice, a deliberated selection made on consideration of factors having to do with breeding and all manner of things he had no faith in, he’d failed to see what was, in retrospect, ridiculously obvious. He’d wanted Jenny all along.
“I thought a country setting might be best for the ceremony,” he said, his voice casual. He pointedly ignored her amazement. “My home is in Sussex, and I believe that will do nicely. It might be best to have the wedding away from the city, in the event talk would linger.”
“But, I—”
“Or do you prefer that Reverend Morley perform the ceremony? We can certainly face down the gossips if you are inclined.”
“No. I don’t like him.” She shook her head, bemused. “I don’t wish to be married here in London.”
“Ah, good. I didn’t take to that stuffy church of his myself. Well, then, as soon as we can make the arrangements, we shall set off for Sussex.”
“Miles!” She held up her hand.
His lips twitched as he fought a smile. She blinked at him, her eyes wide, and tiny creases of confusion lined her brow. She was absolutely stunning, just like this.
How blind he’d been. He’d never stopped to examine the way Jenny had come to dominate his thoughts, how her favor or disfavor governed his mood, and how enslaved his sense of contentment had become entwined with whether she was happy with him. He’d blundered into passion, never stopping to think.
And damn it if he wasn’t a fool for the second time in his life. Desiring a woman past reason was not in his plan, but if that was so . . .
Why wasn’t he unhappy about the sudden turn of events? For he most assuredly was not.
And he was not going to allow her to get away.
“I don’t know why you are doing this,” she said.
“How could you not?” He said this as if it were a ridiculous notion. “Poor girl. I am afraid you have quite misunderstood the way of things. Now, do you wish to have a wedding breakfast instead of an afternoon banquet?”
“Stop planning this . . . this . . . absurd . . . thing.”
“The correct term is a wedding,” he supplied with a grin.
“I am not even certain how it all came about.” She sighed. “Miles, why did you tell everyone we were engaged?”
“It seemed logical.”
She looked so vulnerable as she turned away. He sighed. Did she really know so little?