Hamish’s chiseled jaw set in a determined line, and a muscle flickered in his lean cheek. "No."
"I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I woke him. He always loves to see you. Although I’m not sure how alert he’ll be."
One large, capable hand made a sweeping gesture. "Yes, I’ll need to talk to him. But, Emily…Miss Baylor, you misunderstand me. I’m not here to say goodbye. I’m here to ask you to become a permanent part of my life."
Oh, no… Not this. Not this.
Her knees turned to water, and she gripped the back of the chair so tightly that her knuckles went white. Icy dread trickled down her backbone. Surely he couldn’t mean what she feared he did. "Hamish, I…"
He rushed on before she could finish. Nor did he sound any happier to say what he did than she was to hear it. "Miss Baylor, I’d count myself the luckiest man in England if you will consent to become my wife."
Chapter 5
Devil take it, his proposal left Emily looking even more devastated than she had after they were caught out. She was pale as paper, and her great hazel eyes were wide and dark with distress. Hamish watched her delicate throat move as she swallowed. He might as well have delivered a death sentence, instead of an offer of marriage.
The silence, as sharp as a honed blade, continued.
And continued.
Since that fraught night at Pascoe Place, Hamish’s gut had been tied up in knots. Right now, he felt like he’d swallowed a coiling cobra. It was bad enough having to make up for his unacceptable behavior. It was worse when his proposal made the lady to whom he made amends react with unconcealed horror.
Eventually he couldn’t bear the wait. "Emily? What do you think?"
She swallowed again, but this time she managed to speak. Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. "Of course the answer is no."
His lips firmed, but he placed a short rein on his temper. Her immediate, unthinking refusal shouldn’t hurt. Now wasn’t the time to harangue her. After all, his temper had got them into this deplorable situation in the first place. "That’s not good enough."
Still with that awful frozen expression, she sank into the chair that she’d been clutching like her dearest friend.
"You’re overreacting." She linked shaking hands in her lap, as she stared up at him as if afraid he meant to run mad. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.
If only she knew how he’d already raged through his luxurious rooms in the Albany, cursing chance and society and his own bloody stupidity. But all the fury in the world couldn’t alter the fact that he was trapped.
So was Miss Emily Baylor, however she might rail against their inevitable fate.
"The sooner we sort this out, the better. If we delay, the scandal will only deepen."
"You didn’t come yesterday," she pointed out.
Her sharp mind was recovering from the shock, he was grateful to see. She started to sound more like her clever, capable self. Someone so smart would soon see that neither of them had any choice in what happened next.
"No." He’d spent yesterday desperately trying to come up with some other way of salvaging his reputation – and Emily’s. The unpalatable truth was that he was no more reconciled to the future looming ahead than she was. He’d just had more time to come to terms with the fact that marriage was the only thing that would save them.
When he’d entered the room, he’d been appalled to see how tired she looked. Tired and hounded and defeated. Defeated was a word he’d never before associated with indomitable Emily Baylor.
She didn’t look indomitable now. She looked young and defenseless and lost.
Hamish had often indulged in forbidden fantasies where he took his mentor’s prickly daughter into his arms and taught her about passion. This was the first time he’d ever wanted to hold her purely to provide comfort.
The girl who sat before him wasn’t his razor-tongued bugbear. In her shabby green merino gown and with her luxuriant hair confined in a knot that looked ready to fall down, she seemed vulnerable and fragile. He felt a ridiculous urge to protect her, when his protection was the last thing she wanted. As proof of that, he only needed to recall her discourteous response to his proposal.
"But you don’t like me," she said in the tone that told him her conclusion was inarguable.
He shook his head. "Circumstances dictate that my feelings – our feelings – are irrelevant." He watched her eyes widen, and realized that perhaps she wasn’t the only one guilty of discourtesy. Heat rose to his cheeks. "Anyway, I do like you."
Her glare was disbelieving. "No, you don’t. You think I’m far too big for my boots and I show an unfeminine interest in areas where no woman should presume to intrude."
It was true. Mostly. "But that doesn’t mean I dislike you."