Chapter 22 #3
“I do not need your arm,” she said firmly, “but I thank you for escorting me home. Mr. Laverock was being unpleasant, I am afraid to say.”
“I feared as much,” he admitted. “After I saw you riding in his company without any others nearby, I could not rid myself of the notion that you might be in danger. I came back to see to your welfare.”
“It is most obliging of you, sir.” She was careful not to give him any more of her eager glances or puckered lips. She would be totally unavailable—this for her own protection, and for his.
“Besides,” Pembroke went on. “Mr. Wilmot and I have been speaking of Laverock. He is run off his legs, apparently, and is attempting to lure unsuspecting gentlemen of means into giving up their fortune at play. His reputation has always been suspect, though no one had any proof, and now it is all coming out.”
“I can believe it,” she said simply.
“A man as dishonorable as he would have no sincere intentions in your regard. I believe he courted you thinking a marriage to a woman of the peerage would save him,” Pembroke explained in a completely unnecessary way.
She had not asked him for his opinion on the matter.
Ignorant of her pique, he added, “Or at least so he thought.”
“Yes, I see.” She did not know why her spirits must soar so high and plunge so low whenever she was in Lord Pembroke’s presence.
But her spirits had plunged. He had made it clear that a man would only woo her because she served some purpose.
In the same way that he had only kissed her in response to some foolish temptation he had given way to, he believed a man would only take her as wife if it bolstered his reputation. She was nothing to Pembroke.
They passed through the gates of Hyde Park and would arrive at Grosvenor Square before long.
She wished to be away from him, which was an odd thing because she longed to be with him at the same time, no matter how painful it was to be in his presence.
She was not sure her heart could take such back and forth.
“I left my card today,” he said.
“I know. I was out.” This was followed by a short silence, and she was painfully conscious of him at her side.
“Why did you run yesterday?” he asked.
She heard him but wished she had not. Although she had guessed he might ask her such a thing, she had not applied her mind to think of what to answer him, a fact she regretted now.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked instead.
“I assure you, Camilla,” he said earnestly, “the temptation to do so was very great.”
Because I turned up my lips, she thought.
Because I looked at him with all of the longing and hope pouring from my gaze until he pitied me.
She could not bear the humiliation. He had seen right through her desperation, and although he was gentleman enough to marry her after what he had done, that was not what she wanted.
She did not want to be proposed to for gentlemanly reasons.
“Camilla,” he said, then stopped for a pause that seemed eternal. She scarcely breathed, guessing what was to come. “I wish you will accept my offer of marriage.”
He sounded like he meant it, but he had already made it clear he did not and would only deny it if she were to ask.
Her eyes stung at the pain of words she had longed to hear but which were spoken with the wrong motivation.
She would not let him see it and turned to look away, blinking rapidly.
To be proposed to out of pity or from some sense of obligation was not what she had dreamed of as a little girl.
“I regret to tell you that I cannot marry you,” she answered quietly.
“What do you mean?” The evident surprise in his voice caused her to turn and look at him, and he did indeed look stunned. He was likely surprised that someone as desperate as she would refuse him. Well, he would find out that she was not so pliable or hopeless as he thought.
“I am afraid we do not suit, my lord. I should not like to be your wife.” In the long silence that followed, she kept her face forward, knowing that one glance at his expression might weaken her resolve and she could not let that happen.
“I confess myself to be disappointed,” he responded at last, his voice humble, as though he really meant it. “I do not dare to press a suit that is distasteful to you. I only hope you will change your mind.”
“Thank you for your understanding.” And no, she thought, I will not change my mind.
The day had begun to grow warm, and they advanced on the broad flagway that went around Grosvenor Square. Lord Pembroke, leading his horse, walked at the same sedate pace as though he were perfectly in control of his emotions. Or…as if he wished she might change her mind?
Her house seemed so very far away. They did not exchange more words as they lessened the distance to their destination little by little. It seemed like a lesson in torture to continue on in each other’s company after a difficult discussion that ended in heartbreak.
She began to have some sympathy—a very little—for Mr. Laverock.