Now he knew how all those women in his life had felt.
God damn, it hurt.
He tore down the stairs in fury.
Why wouldn’t she let him put things right? She’d talked of wanting other men and thrown him out. His body shook. His heart raged. His fists opened and closed. Wanting to strangle her. To make her listen to reason.
He needed a drink. Something to take away the turmoil in his head.
On his way to the taproom, he collided with Snively. He glared at him and pushed by.
Snively grabbed his sleeve. ‘You been up there upsetting her again?’
‘Hardly,’ Robert said. ‘She doesn’t give a tinker’s cuss for me.’
‘Hoity-toity bugger. Up in the boughs, are we?’
Robert brushed him off. ‘You’ve no idea what you are talking about.’
‘I know she looks like she lost half a crown and found a penny.’
Robert paused.
‘She ain’t eating much either.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘She’s miserable when she should be as happy as a grig.’
‘What has that to do with me?’
Snively shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. You’re the man who understands women.’
‘Understand them? No one understands them.’
‘Maybe not. Can I buy you a drink?’ Snively walked to the bar, pulled out a pipe and shoved it between his teeth. ‘I’d have a little think before you acts with haste.’
‘Think about what? I asked her to marry me. She turned me down.’
‘Happen you’re right. Though I never saw her look so down as when you left the lawyer’s office. Went down on your knees did you? Begged for forgiveness after what you said?’ The older man looked at him sideways and sighed. ‘Too high in the instep for that, I reckon. You a duke’s son and all and her nothing but a base-born child.’
Robert slammed his fist on the bar. Tankards jumped and rattled. ‘That has nothing to do with anything. I offered her my name.’
‘Not good enough, my lord.’ Snively shook his grey head.
‘Drink, sir?’ asked the barman, wiping at the bar in front of Robert with a rag.
‘Brandy,’ Robert said. ‘For two.’
The barman poured and moved away. Robert downed his drink in one gulp. It didn’t make him feel one iota better. ‘What do you suggest, then?’
Snively’s eyes twinkled. ‘If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t.’
Robert’s fingers curled around his glass. He wished the slender stem was Snively’s neck. ‘Fat lot of help you are.’
‘All right. Why do you want to marry her?’
‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Empty words.’ The old man turned away. ‘You don’t deserve her. Bugger off.’
He picked up his glass and wandered to the settle by the hearth where he picked up a discarded newspaper and proceeded to immerse himself in its pages.
Robert signalled for another brandy and when it came he stared into its depths. Why else would he want to marry her? He liked her. He felt good when he was with her. Hell, he felt terrible when she wasn’t around.
It was as if they were joined by an invisible thread attached to his heart and the further it was stretched, the more painfully tight it became. Was that what people called love?
He raised the glass to his lips. Then put it down.
Love was romantic nonsense.
Wasn’t it?
What had Mother said—pride and love make bad bedfellows? Was that his problem? Was he too proud?
Or did he fear she’d reject his love, the way Father had?
Which meant taking a terrible risk.
What if he couldn’t have her any other way? What if she met some handsome Italian count and fell into bed with him? Or worse, married him?
She had said she loved him.
How could he offer her anything less?
And if she turned him down again?
At least he’d be able to look at his face in the mirror and not be disgusted by his cowardice.
He glanced over at Snively, who had finished his drink and was now dozing with the newspaper over his face. No help there.
He climbed back up the stairs and let himself in quietly.
The remains of her supper still lay on the table beside the window. She hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful or two. The sight gave him heart. Perhaps Snively was right. She wasn’t happy.
Silently, he tried her bedroom door. Locked. He knocked.
‘I’m finished with the supper dishes,’ she called out. ‘You can take them away.’
Her voice sounded thick and damp as if she’d been crying. A good sign? The tightness in his chest said not.
‘I’ve not come for the dishes,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to make a confession.’
Silence.
‘Frederica, there is one more thing I need to say.’
Frederica stared at the door. When would he stop torturing her? ‘G-go away.’
‘Please, sweetling. It won’t take more than a minute or two.’
Ah, how could she resist the plea in his voice? She wasn’t going to change her mind, though. Whatever he said. Not even if he tied her up and stood her in front of the altar. All she had to do was remain calm. Strong. In control.
She ran to the mirror. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy. She dipped a cloth in the ewer and dabbed at her tear-streaked face.
He tapped on the door. ‘Frederica.’
‘A moment if you please.’
A quick smooth of her gown, an extra pin in her hair. She looked in the mirror and shook her head. He’d know she’d been crying. She fixed a cool smile on her face and opened the door.
He stood a little back from the door, dark, aloof, his face grim. Much as she’d seen him that first day by the river, except in his fine clothes he looked every inch the duke’s second son. Generations of knights lived in his bearing.
Inside, she began to shake.
Did he now hope to force his will on her? The way her uncle had intended with her cousin?
She kept her face calm, politely interested. ‘Lord Robert, back so soon? I really cannot think of anything else that needs to be said.’
‘There is one thing.’ His voice was deep and dark and her insides quivered at the sound; her wicked body yearned for his touch.
‘I’ll hear no more talk of duty and honour. I have neither. Please close the door on the way out.’
She went to the sofa and gazed into the fire’s depths, waiting for the slam of the door.
Instead, she heard his step across the floor as he drew near. She held herself rigid, ready to resist a seduction if necessary, primed herself to be deaf to his words.
A faint rustle and a small thud sounded behind her.
She couldn’t stop herself—she turned