"Stephen," she said sharply, "you are not coming inside with me. You are not invited."

The carriage rumbled off down the street.

"I am coming anyway," he said.

And she realized, as she had done last week after she had chosen him, that there was a thread of steel in Stephen Huxtable, Earl of Merton, and that in certain matters he could be quite inflexible. This was one of those matters. She might remain out here arguing for an hour, but he was coming inside at the end of it. She might as well let him in now. A few spots of rain were falling, and there was not a star in sight overhead. There was probably going to be a downpour in a short while.

"Oh, very well," she said irritably, and bent to find the house key beneath the flowerpot beside the steps.

He took it from her hand, unlocked the door, allowed her to step inside before him, and closed and locked the door behind him.

Alice, Mary, and Belinda would have gone to bed hours ago. They would be no help whatsoever. Not that they would even if they were present. A glance at Stephen's face in the dim light of the hall candle confirmed her in her suspicion that he was angry and mulish and was going to be very difficult to deal with.

He strode into the sitting room, came back with a long candle, lit it from the hall candle, extinguished the latter, and led the way back into the sitting room.

Just as if he owned the house.

Of course, he /was/ paying the rent on it.

/18/

IT was a devilishly ticklish situation.

She /had/ to marry him. Surely she could see that. Her tenure with the /ton/ was precarious, to say the least. If she withdrew from this betrothal now, she would never recover her position.

"Cass," he said as he fixed the candle in its holder on the mantel, "I love you, you know."

He felt a little weak at the knees, saying the words aloud. He wondered if he meant them. He had told Nessie this afternoon that he /liked/ her as opposed to simply liking her without the emphasis, but did that mean he loved her with a forever-after kind of love?

He thought it might mean that. But everything had happened too quickly.

He had not had sufficient time to /fall/ in love.

None of which mattered now.

Good Lord, he had /never/ before kissed a woman in public – or even /nearly/ in public. It was unpardonable of him to have done so tonight.

Especially with Cassandra.

"No, you do not," she said, seating herself in her usual chair, crossing her legs, and swinging her foot, her dancing slipper dangling from her toes. She stretched her arms along the arms of the chair and looked perfectly relaxed – and rather contemptuous. The old mask. "I believe you like me well enough, Stephen, and for reasons of your own you have decided to befriend me and bring me into fashion – and support me financially until I can stand on my own feet. There is doubtless some lust mingled in with the liking because you have been in my bed twice and enjoyed both experiences sufficiently to think you would not mind trying it again. You do not /love/ me."

"You presume to know me, then," he asked her, irritated, "better than I know myself?"

There was truth in what she said, though. He wanted her even now. Her orange-red dress gleamed in the light of the single candle, her hair glowed just as brightly, and her face was beautiful, even with its scornful expression. He was in her house late at night again, and he could not help thinking of what a pleasure it would be to go upstairs with her and make love to her again.

"Yes, I do," she said, and her expression softened slightly as she looked fully at him. "I believe you were born compassionate and gallant, Stephen. Acquiring your title and properties and fortune have not made you less so, as they would with ninety-nine men out of one hundred, but more so because you believe you must prove yourself worthy of such good fortune. You gallantly offered me marriage tonight – or announced our betrothal, rather. And now you are gallantly convincing yourself that you really /wish/ to marry me. In your mind, that means that you must /love/ me, and so you believe that you do. You do not."

Irritation had blossomed into anger. Yet he did wonder if she was right.

How could he be in love so suddenly like this? And with someone so different from his ideal of a prospective wife? How could he be contemplating this marriage he had trapped himself into with anything less than dismay?

And yet…

"You are wrong," he said, "as you will see in time. But it does not matter, Cass. Whether you are right or I am, the situation is the same.

We have been seen together enough times in the past week to have aroused interest and speculation, and tonight we were caught alone out on the balcony, in each other's arms, kissing each other. There is only one thing we /can/ do. We must marry."

"And so," she said, her fingers drumming slowly on the arms of her chair, "for one small and thoughtless indiscretion we must both sacrifice the rest of our lives? Of course it is what the /ton/ now expects. It is what it /demands/. Do you not see how ridiculous that is, though, Stephen?"

It /was/ ridiculous and would be something worth defying if they actively disliked each other.

"One small and thoughtless indiscretion," he said. "Is that what that kiss was, Cass? Did it mean nothing else?"

She raised her eyebrows and was silent for a while.

"We spent two nights in bed together, Stephen," she said, "but have since reverted to celibacy. You are an extraordinarily attractive man, and I do not believe I am without some charms. We were waltzing together and had become heated in the ballroom. We sought coolness out on the balcony and discovered solitude there as well. What happened was almost inevitable – and indiscreet, of course. /And/ thoughtless."

"It was nothing more than lust, then?" he said.

"No, it was not." She smiled at him.

"I believe you know," he said, holding her eyes with his own, "that it was. If anyone is practicing self-deception here, Cass, it is you, not me."

"You are very sweet," she said in her velvet voice.

He was annoyed again. And frustrated. He stood with his back to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him.

"If you fail to honor this engagement," he said, "there will be a horrible scandal."

She shrugged.

"People will recover," she said. "They always do. And we will have supplied them with what they most enjoy – a salacious topic of gossip."

He leaned a little toward her.

"Yes," he agreed. "Under more normal circumstances we could perhaps hope to suffer nothing worse than a few weeks of severe discomfort.

But – forgive me, Cass – these are not normal circumstances. Not for you, anyway."

She pursed her lips and regarded him with an amused smile.

"The beau monde will rejoice over /you/, Stephen," she said. "The lost sheep returning to the fold. All the ladies will weep tears of joy.

Eventually you will choose one of them and live happily ever after with her. I promise you."

He stared at her until she raised her eyebrows again and looked downward rather jerkily. She drew her slipper back onto her foot by clenching her toes, uncrossed her legs, and smoothed her gown over her knees.

"Sometimes," she said, "your eyes are uncomfortably intense, Stephen, and speak more eloquently than words. It is very unfair of you. One cannot argue with eyes."

"You will be ruined," he said.

She laughed. "And I am not already?"

"You are recovering," he said. "People are beginning to accept you. You are beginning to receive invitations. My family has accepted you. Your brother has reconciled with you. And now you could be betrothed to me.

What is so very bad about that? Do you believe I will beat you after we are married? That I will cause you to miscarry our children? Do you?

Will you look me in the eye and tell me you fear I may be capable of such dastardly behavior?"

She shook her head quickly and closed her eyes.

"I have nothing to bring to any marriage, Stephen," she said. "No hopes, no dreams, no light, no youth. Only chains that I drag about with me like wraiths. And the prospect of more chains that the nuptial service would hang on me as soon as I vowed away my freedom. No, I do /not/ believe you would mistreat me. But I cannot do it, Stephen. I simply cannot. For your sake as well as mine. We would be miserable – both of us.

Believe me, we would."

He felt a chill about the heart. There was no mask now. Her voice was shaking with the passion of sincerity.

Marrying was something she could not do again.

Once had been enough.

Too much.

There was no further argument that might convince her.

And so he too was free, with a freedom he no longer wanted.

Perhaps tomorrow he would think differently. Maybe by then he would have returned to sanity.

There was a lengthy silence, during which he sat down in the chair opposite hers. He slumped slightly in it, propped one elbow on the arm, and rested his head in his hand.

He could not feel any relief yet because there were other, much stronger feelings.

Disappointment.

Grief.

Bewilderment.

Desperation.

Then he had an idea.

"Cass," he said, "are you willing to compromise with me?"

"/Half/ marry you?" she asked, her smile slightly twisted, her eyes – what? Wistful?

"Let me send the announcement of our betrothal to the papers," he said.