She turned to face him. A mistake. He was just as perfectly put together as he always was—all smooth hair and golden skin and impeccable cravat and eyebrow arched with just enough grace to make her feel like she’d been born and raised in a stable. She was immediately and acutely aware that she was wearing her grayest, drabbest, and now, no doubt, dirtiest gown, and that she likely appeared in dire need of both a nap and a bath.
He was an infuriating man. Truly.
“I should like to continue our conversation from last night.”
She did not respond, instead stooping to pick up several books from the floor.
He watched her, unmoving, as though considering his next words carefully. She waited, slowly placing the books on their shelf, willing him not to say anything. Hoping he’d simply give up and leave.
He stepped closer to her, crowding her into the dimly lit space. “Callie, I cannot apologize enough.” His words were quiet in their sincerity.
She closed her eyes at the words, letting her fingers trail down the spine of one of the books. She saw the letters on the cover, in shining gold plate, but she could not read them. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself against the emotion pounding through her. She shook her head firmly, refusing to look at him—not trusting herself to look at him. “Please don’t apologize,” she whispered. “There is no need.”
“Of course there is a need. My behavior was reprehensible.” He sliced a hand through the air. “More important, however, is that I rectify the situation immediately.”
His meaning was clear. Callie shook her head again. “No,” she said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?” His surprise was obvious.
She cleared her throat, willing her voice to be stronger, this time. “No. There is no situation and, hence, no requirement for you to rectify it.”
He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “You cannot be serious.”
She squared her shoulders and pushed past him into the light, open central area of the library. Wiping her hands on her dress, she made a show of sorting through a pile of books on a nearby table. She saw none of the titles; registered none of the authors. “I am quite serious, my lord. Whatever perceived infraction you seem to believe you committed, I assure you, you have done no such thing.”
He raked a hand through his hair, irritation flashing across his face. “Callie. I compromised you. Rather thoroughly. And now, I should like to make it right. We are marrying.”
She swallowed, refusing to look at him—not trusting herself to do so. “No, my lord. We are not.” They were, quite possibly, the most difficult words she had ever said. “Not that I do not appreciate the offer,” she added politely.
He looked thoroughly nonplussed. “Why not?”
“My lord?”
“Why won’t you marry me?”
“Well, for one thing, you haven’t asked. You announced.”
He looked to the ceiling as though asking for patience. “Fine. Will you marry me?”
The words sent a sad thrill through Callie. Forced into it or no, the Marquess of Ralston proposing to her was definitely high on her list of most wonderful moments in her lifetime. Tops on the list.
“No. But, thank you very much for asking.”
“Of all the damn fool—” he checked himself. “Do you want me on one knee, then?”
“No!” Callie didn’t think she would be able to bear him on bended knee, asking her to marry him. That would be a cruel trick of the universe.
“What the devil is the problem?”
The problem is that you don’t really want me. “I simply see no reason for us to marry.”
“No reason,” he repeated, testing the words for himself. “I would venture to guess that I could name one or two very good reasons.”
She met his eyes finally, unsettled by the conviction in their rich blue depths. “Surely you haven’t attempted to marry every woman you’ve compromised. Why begin with me?”
His eyes widened in shock at her bold words. The emotion was soon replaced by irritation. “Let us resolve this once and for all. You evidently think me far more profligate than I have been. Contrary to what you might believe, I have indeed proposed to every unmarried virgin I’ve deflowered. All one of them.”
Callie flushed at his frank words and looked away, nibbling at her lower lip. He was obviously upset by the situation, and she was sorry for that. But, truthfully, he couldn’t possibly be more upset than she was. She’d spent a glorious evening in the arms of the only man she’d ever wanted, and he’d promptly proposed to her—out of some newfound sense of duty—with all the romance of a side of beef.
And she was supposed to collapse in gratitude for the overwhelmingly generous Marquess of Ralston? No, thank you. She would live out the rest of her days with the wonderful memory of the night before and be happy with that.
She hoped.
“Your honorable actions are duly noted, my lord—”
“For God’s sake, Callie—stop ‘my lording’ me.” Irritation laced his tone, giving her pause. “You realize you could be with child.”
One of Callie’s hands went immediately to her waist at the words. She quelled the intense longing that shot through her at the idea of carrying Ralston’s child. She hadn’t considered the possibility, but how likely could it really be? “I doubt very much that that is the case.”
“Nevertheless, there is a possibility. I won’t have a child of mine born a bastard.”
Callie’s eyes flashed. “Neither would I. But this conversation is rather premature, don’t you think? After all, the risk of such a thing is rather minimal.”
“Any risk is too much of a risk. I want you to marry me. I will give you everything you could ever want.”
You’ll never love me. You never could. I am too plain. Too boring. Nothing like what you deserve. The words whispered through her mind, but she remained silent, instead shaking her head.
He sighed, frustrated. “If you won’t hear reason, I shall have no choice but to have this conversation with Benedick.”
Callie gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“You have evidently mistaken me for a different man. I shall marry you, and I am not above having your brother force you down the aisle to do it.”
“Benedick would never force me to marry you,” Callie protested.
“It appears we will discover the truth of that statement.” They stood, facing off, eyes sparkling with frustration, for several long moments before his tone softened, and he said, “Would it be that bad?”
Raw emotion burst in Callie’s chest, and she could not immediately reply. Of course, marrying Ralston would not be bad. Marrying Ralston would be wonderful. She’d pined for him for years, watched him longingly from the edges of ballrooms, combed the gossip columns for news of him and his escapades. For a decade, when the doyennes of the ton speculated about the future Marchioness of Ralston, Callie had secretly imagined herself holding court alongside her coveted marquess.
But in all those years, she’d imagined a love match. She’d dreamed that one day he would spy her from across a crowded ballroom or from inside a shop on Bond Street, or at a dinner party and fall madly in love with her. She’d imagined them living happily ever after.