A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)
“I’m glad,” she said jerkily. When he touched her, thinking became an effort.
“And one of the greatest gifts, apart from you, is coming to understand that I’ve devoted my life to fulfilling my father’s dreams, not my own.”
Dismayed, she tugged free of his drugging caresses. “That’s not true.”
He sighed. “I’m thirty-two years old and asking you to marry me is the first decision I’ve ever made without outside influence.”
She wanted to tell him that if this was an example of his independent thinking, he needed to go back to taking advice. But she wasn’t so mean, not when she read the harrowing sincerity in his silvery eyes.
“I know you believe what you say,” she said slowly.
He frowned. “I want you to believe it too.”
“Well, I don’t. If I marry you, I’ll make you a laughingstock.” She slid away from him. “And desire doesn’t last.”
“How do you know?”
Nell laughed without humor. “Ask those girls in your uncle’s diary.”
“You can’t compare what I feel for you to my uncle’s selfish lust.”
She knew she did James an injustice. And that she hurt him. Then she reminded herself that their marriage would hurt him much worse than a refusal now. Still, her voice softened. “I’m sorry, James. Whatever you say, I can’t believe that there’s anything more behind this proposal than desire, guilt over ruining me, and a passing fancy for the rural idyll.”
Temper darkened his face and he surged to his feet, glaring at her. Once she’d have cringed. He was large and powerful, and his rage charged the air.
Perhaps she’d changed too. Calmly she stood and met his brilliant gray eyes.
“What about love, Eleanor? Where does that count in your dismissive list?”
That one little word “love” made her stagger back. “Love?”
He loomed over her like a mighty cliff. “I love you.”
The declaration sounded like a curse. If he’d made a heartfelt vow, perhaps she’d doubt him, but his militant tone convinced her. Still she tried to deny it. “No.”
He grabbed her arms. “Yes, Eleanor. A resounding yes.”
“But I’m your housemaid,” she protested weakly.
“Shut up.” He kissed her with boundless tenderness.
She wrenched away. “Stop.”
He caught her shoulders and stared down at her with an urgency that made her want to scream. “Eleanor, I love you and I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?”
Her mind flooded with what would happen if she confessed her love and consented. Happiness now. An acknowledged place in his bed. Legitimate offspring. James at her side for the rest of her life.
Then other, bleaker thoughts. Men and women who once respected him sneering at the mention of his name. James seeing unworthy candidates rising to the office that should have been his. James bored and unhappy with his choice, but, because he was a good man, struggling to hide it day after day.
Nell couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t do that to herself.
His declaration of love fed her starving heart, but she couldn’t harm him. If she married him, she’d undoubtedly harm him. She squared her shoulders and forced out the most difficult words she’d ever spoken. “No, my lord, I won’t.”
The agony of denying him multiplied a hundredfold as she read his reaction. Surprise—he’d thought to persuade her this time. Acrid disappointment. Anguish.
His hands clenched on her shoulders. “I love you, Eleanor.”
“Stop saying that,” she said harshly, breaking free and trying not to cry. His declaration should be a crowning moment. Instead, it threatened to crush her.