Three Proposals and a Scandal (Sons of Sin 4.50)

Elias cursed himself as an impetuous blockhead for cornering her last night. He should have known better than to approach her in a crowd, but he’d been desperate to talk to her before she left for Wiltshire without him.

Lord Hillbrook hadn’t invited anyone related to the Thornes, and that included his close friends, the Duke and Duchess of Sedgemoor. Rumor had it that Hillbrook set his eye on a parcel of land Marianne’s father owned in Hampstead and he chose guests likely to keep the marquess in a cooperative mood.

Of Elias’s rivals, Desborough was going to Wiltshire while Tranter wasn’t. The thought of Marianne marrying either miscreant made Elias want to smash his fist through the casement window in front of him. Desborough was a million years too old for her, however much her father wanted the match. Tranter was a handsome cipher. Neither man knew nor cared about the real woman. Both would bundle Marianne so tight in gracious manners and feminine duty that she’d damn well suffocate.

Which explained why Elias was here today, uninvited and far too early for a social call.

“Lord Wilmott,” a low, musical voice said behind him. A voice he heard in his dreams. Except in his dreams she called him Elias.

At Fentonwyck in the warm, loving atmosphere of a happy home, they’d used one another’s Christian names. Since returning to London, she’d reverted to using his title.

Like this morning.

Although at least she’d appeared.

Slowly he turned from the window, to savor the moment when he beheld her. He should be accustomed by now to the way his heart rose at the sight of her.

She was beautiful in the classic English style with her mink brown hair and deep blue eyes. Eyes that hid more than they revealed, even during those few cherished hours at Fentonwyck when he’d had her to himself.

“Lady Marianne. Thank you for seeing me.”

So polite when his blood rushed with primal need. This was the first time they’d been alone since Christmas, although she left the door open behind her as propriety demanded. To hell with propriety. It would kill her before it was done.

“I can’t spare you much time. We leave for Wiltshire this afternoon.”

“I know.” Very deliberately he stepped past her to close the door. He didn’t want any nosy servants overhearing him.

“My lord?” The discouraging tone was regrettably familiar.

He turned to face her, his manner composed, while nerves churned in his stomach. “I want to talk to you.”

As she stepped back, he read a flash of fear in her remarkable eyes before she masked all emotion and became again the perfect lady. “Pray open the door, Lord Wilmott.”

Her voice was firm. But of course she’d never lacked courage. That was the first thing he’d really noticed about her, the way she’d held her head high last year when society had derided her as Sedgemoor’s leavings. Elias had admired her then. He admired her even more now. If only he could make her believe that.

“I have no intention of doing this in public.” Knowing their privacy could be short-lived, Elias strode forward and captured her hands. Unlike her voice, they trembled. When she tried to pull free, he firmed his grip.

“Doing what?” But he saw that she guessed his purpose. He admired her cleverness more than he admired her courage.

“Marry me, Marianne.” He’d planned a more subtle approach, but having her so close threw strategy into chaos.

For an instant, something in her expression set him ablaze with hope. Then cold set in, hard and unforgiving as a northern winter. “Let me go.”

Feverishly he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them with all the fervor in his heart. “Don’t send me away.”

“If you act like a barbarian, I have no choice,” she retorted, straining away.

“Marianne, please.” Desperate to touch her, knowing that if he could just pierce the polished shell to reach the real woman, she’d listen, he caught her around the waist. He hauled her up against him and for one searing moment, her fragrant softness pressed close. He felt the wild flutter of her breath against his jaw.

She wriggled to create some space between them. “How dare you?”

“Don’t fight me,” he said despairingly, before making the worst mistake of all. “I love you.”

She went completely motionless in his hold. Worried, he pulled back far enough to see her face. She was as white as paper. Clearly she’d never harbored the hope of hearing a confession of love from him.

“Stop lying,” she snarled.

Defeat began to pound around him like drums at a military funeral. He’d never spoken those particular words to a woman. Of all the reactions he’d expected, he’d never prepared for open disbelief. “I’m not lying.”