CHAPTER TWO
Gabe’s hand froze in mid-air as he returned the stopper. That wasn’t a question; it was an accusation. Yet he didn’t blame her. After all, he’d given her good reason to doubt him.
But damnation, did she have to keep staring at him as if he were Lucifer himself?
“Things went badly between us last time,” he acknowledged quietly.
“You jilted me,” she stated bluntly, not bothering to soften her words, “on the morning of our wedding while I was waiting in the rear of the church for you to arrive. You sent James Wentworth, of all people, to tell me you weren’t coming.
” Restrained anger and tears roughened her voice.
“Two days later you married someone else.”
“I know what happened.” He hoped his icy tone was clear. He would give no further explanation for his actions that morning, now or ever. “Which is why we should agree to the rules up front.”
“But I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to.” He faced her and lifted the glass to his lips. “You just have to marry me.”
Doing his best to ignore the way she gaped at him, Gabe twisted a grim smile down at his glass. Leave it to Helena to confront him like this. She always was more confident and direct than other society misses.
Apparently, some things never changed.
He gestured toward the papers with his glass. “You’ll find that the documents Putnam has created are meant to protect both of us. They’re a safeguard in the event that something goes wrong with our engagement.”
And in the event that something went wrong with their marriage. He wouldn’t tolerate being made a fool of by a woman ever again.
Yet he had also made certain the arrangements were fair to Helena and her family.
More than fair, in fact. After he’d received Sir Henry’s letter, Gabe had quickly contacted friends in London to learn the truth about her family’s situation.
The news wasn’t good. Henry Sinfell’s business dealings at the Royal Exchange had taken a dramatic turn for the worse.
A ship he had invested in had sunk coming back from the East Indies, and another was attacked by privateers in the Caribbean.
Poor investments in corn had compounded those losses.
The crop price had gone higher than Sir Henry had anticipated, and he’d had to pay out what was left of his fortune to speculators who bought at the lower price.
One business blunder after another…and all of it worsened by his wife’s illness and death ten years ago, which left medical bills in its wake and additional household expenses from employing maids and governesses for his daughters.
Sir Henry had risen from a family of blacksmiths to become a respected businessman, yet he had always been just shy of full social respectability and financial stability.
In the end, it took just two lost ships and a few hundred bushels of corn to push his family to the edge.
Putnam must have thought Gabe was mad when he’d insisted on adding to the contract a generous settlement for Helena’s family, given that she had no property to bring to the marriage and no aristocratic relatives.
But Gabe wanted to make certain the Sinfells would never have to worry about finances again.
No—Putnam must have already thought Gabe was mad for rousing the man from his bed just after midnight to quickly write down all the terms for the marriage settlement in the first place. He’d surprised the daylights out of the country solicitor.
But then, Helena had surprised the daylights out of Gabe when she set him the message from the village inn to inform him that she’d arrived. He had never seriously believed she would accept his offer and actually come here.
Yet here she was, a ghost from the distant past, just as beautiful and confident as he remembered.
“These terms are non-negotiable,” he said firmly. When she began to argue, he added, “So are the funds that will be placed into a trust for your family after our vows are taken and our signatures signed into the parish registry. I think you’ll agree the amount is quite generous.”
Those funds would also be his first step in attempting to make amends for the past. The arrangement made perfect sense.
He needed a wife, and she needed to save her family.
That was why he’d agreed to Sir Henry’s shocking proposal.
Not to humiliate her. And certainly not for love, as he had no intention of ever marrying for that. It was simply mutual advantage.
But he also needed a written agreement of expectations, because he would damn well make certain that atoning for the past wouldn’t destroy his future.
Her watery eyes narrowed on him, her voice a confused whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
He swirled the brandy and watched it roll in shiny rivulets down the sides of the glass, not wanting to embarrass her by looking at her while discussing finances.
“Your family will be a duke’s in-laws, and there are certain expectations which come with that.
The funds will ensure they’re able to meet them. ”
“No, I meant—” She pulled in a deep breath. “Why do you want to marry me?”
His lips curled faintly as he slowly returned to stand in front of her. “Because I need a wife and mother to my children, you need a husband, and your father offered marriage.” He lifted the glass in a self-mocking toast and quipped with grim humor, “I’m a convenient bride.”
Her brow lifted. “One who looks good in a wedding dress, as long as it doesn’t cost more than three hundred pounds?”
“Exactly.”
Her dark expression didn’t lighten at his attempted jokes. “No,” she whispered, softly enough that her voice was barely above a breath. “Why do you want to marry me now when you abandoned me before?”
The glass froze at his lips. Thank God it did, because holding it in front of his face hid any visible traces of the flash of regret that seared him.
“Because I need a wife, you need a husband, and your father offered marriage,” he repeated, then finished taking his sip of brandy, although the stuff tasted like vinegar on his tongue.
He turned away to set the drink aside on the desk, no longer wanting it, and his eyes fell onto the papers.
“I think we should stop for today. We can finish discussing the agreement when—”
“You thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”
He stilled. The soft accusation came from immediately behind him, so close he could almost feel her nearness heating his back. But it was the audible pain in her trembling voice that struck him like a gut punch.
“That’s why you called off the wedding, wasn’t it?” She was so close he heard her hard swallow. “Because in the end you believed all those terrible things Wentworth told you about me.”
“That wasn’t it at all. I never would have proposed to you in the first place if I believed that.” Still not facing her, he muttered beneath his breath, “I wanted to kill that bastard for what he said about you.” A dark part of him still did.
She rested her hand on his shoulder. Flinching at her touch as if she’d burned him, he sucked in a deep breath and turned toward her, to face his punishment in the glistening of her tears.
“Then why did you abandon me like that?” Her lips quavered, and he knew she was fighting back sobs. “And why marry Clarissa so soon after?”
“I did what I had to.”
He took her hand and gently removed it from his shoulder.
She looked down at their joined hands, and her fingers trembled in his. “Did you love her?”
“No. And she didn’t love me.” That was the God’s truth. “I regret what happened, especially the pain it caused you and your family. I never wanted that. But I did what I had to do.”
“That’s not an apology.” She slipped her hand from his and let it fall empty to her side. He made no attempt to hold on to her, but damn himself for immediately feeling the loss of her warmth. She added hoarsely, “Nor a proper explanation.”
He had no intention of ever giving either. “Our marriage will make amends for the past. Let that be enough.”
Her watery eyes stared at him as if he were an unfathomable monster.
Perhaps that was exactly what he had become.
Even now he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss away that stunned expression.
He wanted to ravish her sensuous lips until she melted against him, until she gave up all silly notions of apologies and explanations, love and romance.
Until she realized, just as he had, that none of that brought joy or happiness.
It was the stuff and nonsense of fairytales and poetry, and he had no room for any of it in his life. Or in his heart. Not any longer.
“Make no mistake about my intentions, Helena. I will be a good husband to you. I’ll give you the home and life you deserve, and I’ll ensure that your father and sisters are cared for.
” He capitulated to the screaming need inside his hollow chest and snatched up the glass of brandy, then finished it in one bracing swallow to wash away his longing for a taste of her.
“But I have absolutely no intention of falling in love with you again.”
Despite the resolved lift of her chin, her voice trembled with what was undoubtedly anger. And disappointment. In him. “Neither do I.”