Page 257 of Dukes for Dessert

Yet her feet stayed planted in the middle of his drawing room as he and his butler masterfully shooed the rest of the flock out the door without them noticing they were being evicted.

Once again, she and Adam were alone.

It didn’t feel like before. Perhaps nothing ever would.

“Carole,” he began, his expression serious and stern.

She waited.

No further comment seemed forthcoming.

“It was a good party,” she assured him, the words tumbling over each other like dead leaves. “You will be the toast of the ton next Season, I swear it. Gentlemen begging for billiard games, ladies swooning over each other left and right, vying for the chance to be your duchess—”

“You.” He drew himself up, as tall and imposing as he must appear when he addressed his peers in the House of Lords. “I want to marry you.”

She blinked. Apparently two could change the rules.

“No, you don’t,” she reminded him. They both knew it could not work. “You want a High Society debutante with good blood, advantageous connections, a large dowry, vast properties, and an Almack’s voucher. I have none of those things.”

“I know.” His expression was tortured. “It doesn’t matter. What we have is better.”

He meant this, she realized in wonder. This was a real proposal. If she said yes, he would do it.

The exquisite crack in her heart made her realize she would do absolutely anything to keep him in her life… except ruin his.

She wasn’t haut ton. He’d spent the evening being introduced to all the “connections” she had. There were no family estates in her dowry. The amount wouldn’t even cover what he’d spent on new windows. There was no Almack’s voucher. She’d never even been formally presented to Society.

Marrying her wouldn’t be an advantage. It would be an albatross.

“Adam,” she began, and then stopped. The truth was too hard to say.

The only reason he thought he wanted her was because he’d never had a connection like this with anyone else. It wasn’t Carole who was special. It was the novelty of coming out of his shell.

When he returned to London, more secure and more confident, he would discover that any number of women would be delighted to be the object of his attention. Waltzes, promenades, even billiards. Carole wasn’t unique. In a matter of weeks, he would find someone just like her who could also offer all the other characteristics that she could not.

With that woman, with the better choice, he would be able to achieve so much more. Not just enrich his duchy, but expand his connections, be more popular with the set in Parliament. The thought made her shake with panic and jealousy and bitterness. But for every problem, no matter how hard, there was always one right answer.

She kissed him on his cheek and whispered, “No.”

The only solution was goodbye.

That was it. The last of the few belongings Adam cared to keep were loaded into his coach. Two hours past dawn, and his driver was already waiting for him beside the carriage.

Under other circumstance, Adam might’ve taken one last walk through the cottage, just to be certain he wasn’t leaving anything important behind. But today he could not bear to look at the billiard room. He knew exactly what he was leaving behind.

Carole had said no.

He gripped the doorframe until his knuckles went white. The idea of walking away from this cottage, walking away from Carole, made him dizzy. His heart was incomplete without her. Yet he would have to go to London alone. Have to marry someone else, knowing full well his heart was hundreds of miles north.

Perhaps Carole would wed someone else, too. She claimed she didn’t want to, but maybe she just didn’t want to marry him.

He could try to convince her, but her happiness came first—and, frankly, so did his. Having to talk an unwilling woman into marrying him was not the equal, loving union he’d been hoping for. If she didn’t want him, then she wasn’t the right one after all.

“Ready, Your Grace?” asked the driver.

It was then that Adam realized his proposal had lacked the most important words of all. He’d gotten the Marry me bit out, and forgotten the I love you. His stomach twisted. He covered his burning cheeks with his hand. Of all the henwitted mistakes a lovesick swain could make during a proposal…

Then again, she hadn’t said she loved him, either. Or asked about feelings at all. Her answer was just… no.