He opened it. She sighed, brushed by him, removed her bonnet, and tossed it on the seat of the only chair in the room. A subtle warning that she didn't expect him to be there long enough to get comfortable.
He closed the door, decided to lock it as well. She heard the click. Her back stiffened. He crossed his arms, leaned back against the door, waited. She finally turned to look at him, but only long enough to note where he was, then glanced away again. He'd gotten used to being treated as if he weren't there, but this was one time he wouldn't allow it.
"Look at me."
She did, even raised a brow at him. He'd expected another argument, giving him a good excuse to ask why she never looked at him anymore, really looked at him. He would probably have found the answer interesting, but it was just as well he didn't ask. He didn't want to make her any more defensive than she already was.
"You could relax," he told her. "This won't take long—then again, it might."
"I'm perfectly relaxed," she replied, though her tone and posture belied that. Which she must have realized, because she added, "Aside from the fact that it's highly improper for you to be in here."
"Who's going to know?"
"Hardly the point," she replied in a huff, then sighed. "Very well, say what you're so determined to say, then please leave."
"I was going to wait until you settled things here in Haverhill. If you got your inheritance back, fine, you'd be relieved. If not, fine, I'd have an edge."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm getting to it. Just letting you know why I didn't make this confession sooner."
"I'm not a priest. Why don't you—"
"Can you stop being sarcastic for one minute?" he asked her.
She closed her mouth, but was back to glaring at him. "If you're about to tell me that you have feelings for me, please don't. You made your preference clear long ago, and it wasn't me."
"Is that what you really think?"
"It's what I know," she replied. "It's what I witnessed. It's what—"
"Oh, hush up, Mari. You really don't know the half of it."
She stared at him. She started tapping her foot. She was about as receptive to hearing what he had to say as an out-of-heat cat was to a barnyard tom. He supposed he should have waited after all. Something had been upsetting her all week. She'd gotten more and more touchy with each passing day, a mood hardly conducive to the romantic overtures he wanted to make.
But he'd already put his foot in it. Not to tell her now would just make matters worse.
He crossed the few feet to stand in front of her. He wanted to draw her into his arms, but she was too tense. He had so much to say, but he was sure now that she didn't want to hear any of it. She'd taken a real dislike to him, obviously, and probably because of her sister. He could at least clear that up... .
"I was attracted to Amanda, yes. I don't deny that. I was planning to let her know about it after she got settled in with your aunt, but only if her attitude improved. I convinced myself the trip was responsible for her behavior, that once it was over, she'd change and become less annoying and more likable. It didn't happen. If anything, she got worse. So no, all plans for courting her ended prior to what happened in that stable."
"Don't bring that up, please."
He shook his head. "I have to. You need to know that it was a mistake."
"The first thing you've said that I agree with," she returned.
"No, it was a bigger mistake than you could possibly realize. I had no reason to suspect that she was pretending to be you, so who do you suppose I thought I was making love to?"
She blushed furiously, hearing that. "I know who you wanted it to be."
"Do you?" He frowned. "No, I don't think so. But then maybe you're forgetting that I kissed you twice prior to that day?"
"Once," she corrected.
"Twice," he insisted. "Don't try to deny again that it was you that night we camped by the road, you, not her, who tried to help me with Leroy. And yes, I know. At first, I thought it was your sister. I even let you convince me for a while that it was. But I don't buy it. That kiss just didn't feel right, when I was thinking it was her. But the night on the porch, that kiss felt perfect."
Her blush got worse. She turned away with it from him. He tried to draw her back, but she shrugged off his hand.
"You're confusing the issue," she stated.
"The whole damn thing is confusing. I'm just trying to clear it up."
She swung back around, and said accusingly, "You're making it worse! You kissed me that night on the porch just to make a comparison, not because you had any desire to kiss me. And I warned you that Amanda enjoys playing tricks of pretense like that, so you thought it was her from the start that day in the stable. You even said—" She paused, looking away again. "She told me what you said."
"What? Or more to the point, why would you believe her when you know she lies?"
"If anyone is lying, it's you," she insisted.
"Dammit, Mari, I swear I thought it was you I was making love to. I was completely shocked that night when Amanda confessed that it was her. I wanted nothing to do with her by that point, much less marry her. She set up the trap, and I fell right into it. And I would have had to marry the wrong woman if Spencer hadn't intervened. It was you I wanted—and still do. I want you so much I can't think straight— which is probably why I'm making a mess of this confession."
"No, the problem is that I don't believe you. So why don't you do us both a favor and—"
He yanked her into his arms. His kiss was fraught with frustration, despair, and some anger because of it. And regret. A lot of regret, because it would probably be the last time he ever kissed her.
He'd expected a lot of things from this encounter, mostly Marian's saying it was too late. But he hadn't expected flat out disbelief. It was so frustrating! If he could convince her of the truth, he was afraid he'd then get that "it's too late," from her. So either way, he'd lose, and that infuriated him. She was too important to him to lose.
He set her back, and said harshly, "You can believe that. And while you're at it, figure out that I love you before it really is too late."
Chapter 54
CHAD LEFT MARIAN'S ROOM, even managed not to slam the door on his way out. She opened the door behind him just to slam it shut on him. He turned back, stared at the door a moment, then smiled. If she could do something that emotional and—silly, then there was hope. At least she wasn't as indifferent to him as he'd begun to think.
The door slamming caused a few other doors in the corridor to open, though. Most of the occupants just had a quick look, saw that nothing was happening that interested them, and went back into their respective rooms. Not so with Amanda. She leaned against her doorframe, waiting for him to pass her. She was the very last person he cared to talk to about anything.
Just the sight of her raised his ire again. Amanda might be secretly enjoying her own marriage, according to Spencer, but she had left Chad's life in an emotional shambles with her selfish, one-track campaign to get her hands on her damn inheritance. And she had paid no price for it. Did she always get away unscathed by the hell she left behind her? She probably did.
He would have gone a different way to avoid her, but there was no other way to go. The room he'd just left was at the end of the corridor and his own room and the stairs were beyond Amanda's room. He could just stand there and wait for her to go away, but she looked too determined to speak to him for him to wait her out.
He decided to beat her to it, marched past her, and said, "At this precise moment, if you weren't her sister, I'd wring your neck. So don't say a—"
"So she finally told you the truth? It certainly took her long enough."
He swung around. "What truth? That she can't bear the sight of me now after what you did?"
"If you believe that, you're a fool, cowboy. She tried to convince me of the same thing. I even believed it until I opened her—"
"I have news for you, Amanda. You've lied, tricked, and manipulated once too often for anyone to believe a word you say. So save your breath, please."
"Well, I never," she huffed indignantly, her nose raised in the air. "And here I was going to do you a favor since I'm feeling so benevolent."
"Did it ever occur to you that I was making love to her, or thought I was, because I cared about her? Because I wanted to marry her. Her, not you. So the only favor you could possibly do for me is to tell me it wasn't you that day. But since that isn't possible—"
He stopped when she started to laugh. "You don't trust your own instincts much, do you, cowboy? I hate to break up a great rant, but you get your wish. It wasn't me. So I lied a little," she added with a shrug. "You got out of marrying me, so no harm was done."
He stared at her incredulously. "What the hell do you mean it wasn't you?"
She tsked at him. "Exactly that. I saw the two of you enter the stable that day, and since I was bored to tears, I went down to find out what you were up to. I overheard you making love and decided to take advantage of that knowledge. It was a gamble. If nothing else, your little secret would have been let out of the bag. But Mari was too shocked to call me a liar, and you were too dense not to know which sister you'd made love to. Like I said, you should have trusted your own instincts. If you'd called my bluff, Mari probably would have supported you, and it would have ended right there. But either way, you got out of it, so no harm was done."
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