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“I see,” he said again. “Well, I will not trespass on your time any longer, Miss Watson. I wish you well. Good day!” She heard the door snip behind him and the sound of his feet descending the stairs.

She turned back to the couch and sank down, giving full vent of her feelings in a hearty bout of tears.

Daphne came in a moment later.

“My dear, what is it? What happened?” She came at once to the couch and sat beside Sarah, putting an arm around her.

“He—proposed and I refused—him!” sobbed Sarah into her sodden handkerchief.

“Good God, why?” wailed Daphne.

“He d-doesn’t l-love me!”

“Well of course not, you silly girl! Good heavens, you know that love has nothing to do with marriage! Did you think I loved Lord Holbrook when I married him?”

Sarah sobbed harder.

“My dear,” Daphne rubbed her arm comfortingly.

“Love is something that comes later, if you’re lucky, and I would think your chances of finding love with His Grace are high.

In any case, he would be a considerate and kind husband, which is much more than many women can say they have.

” She sighed. “Your parents’ marriage is the exception not the rule, my dear. I thought you understood that.”

“Yes!” said Sarah soggily. “I know, but when it came to the point I just c-couldn’t!”

*

Robert left the house in Brooke Street in a state of bewildered agitation and repaired to his club, by far too troubled to show his face in Berkeley Square.

Flinging himself into a chair in the corner of the room and demanding a drink, he stared fuming at the fire and tried to make sense of what had happened between last night and this morning.

He had debated whether to hint at his burgeoning feelings and decided against it in the face of her fleeing from him at Vauxhall and his uncertainty whether she nursed any nascent feelings for him.

He’d decided to be pragmatic, offer her the marriage of convenience he had begun this odd courtship with.

He had thought that based on their discussions she would understand and accept that.

But now it appeared that it was a moot point because her feelings were engaged.

By someone else. Which would neatly explain his inability to gain her affections.

He wasn’t sure what was making him more upset, her refusal or the reason for it. He only knew that the moment she uttered those words— I have only just realized the full magnitude of my feelings— an anger the like of which he could never recall feeling before seized him.

Who? Who was she in love with? He took the proffered glass from the waiter and swallowed a sizeable mouthful of fiery liquid.

He tried to recall any gentlemen that had been paying serious court to her, but he had been so engrossed with his own pursuit of her and the mistaken belief that he had no genuine rivals, he had taken little notice.

He snorted at his own hubris. It serves me right for being such a coxcomb , he supposed .

She accused me of unconscious arrogance, and by Jove she is right.

What a set down! He swallowed the last of the whisky and rose—he was too keyed up to sit.

He left the club to attend Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon to work off some of the fury tying his muscles in knots.

Two hours later he was leaving the establishment, feeling marginally better but still with a knot in his stomach, and ran into Ashford in the street, who dragged him back to the club for a meal. Not that he felt like eating.

“Out with it,” said Ashford, tucking into his bloody steak. “You’re like a bear with a sore head.”

Robert sipped his red wine and toyed with a gravy-covered mushroom. He glanced around to ensure they couldn’t be overheard and said quietly, “I proposed to Miss Watson, and she refused me.”

Ashford paused in the cutting of his steak and raised his eyebrows. “Really? Did she give you a reason?”

Robert swallowed some more of the wine to dislodge the mushroom, which seemed to be stuck.

“It appears the lady has a prior attachment of which I was completely unaware! God damn it all to hell, why didn’t she tell me?

I would never—” he stopped, finished his glass, and waved the waiter over to refill it.

After the waiter did so and stepped back, Robert stabbed again at his steak viciously. “I would never have pursued her had I known. I’ve lost another three weeks! Who would have thought it would be so damned difficult to find a wife?”

“A rich wife,” corrected Ashford, spearing a potato.

“Damn it, I hate this business!” He chewed a piece of steak which tasted like sawdust. He swallowed and sipped more wine to wash it down. It plunked into his stomach like a lead weight.

He pushed his plate away and took a bigger swallow of the wine. “The puzzling thing is, I cannot for the life of me think who it might be. Who else has been pursuing her?”

“Half the fortune hunters in London. Reynolds for one, Pocock, Lannister...”

“My God, not Lannister. She couldn’t be foolish enough to fall for his oily charm, surely?”

“You know as well as I do that the ladies adore him.”

“I refuse to believe she is so lacking taste as to entertain a tendre for that blackguard!”

“Did it occur to you it might not be anyone in London? Might be some childhood sweetheart from home.”

“She said it was of recent date.”

Ashford shrugged. “Could be anyone. Who was the next chit on your list?”

“The Grenfell girl,” he said absently, his mind still full of Sarah Watson. “No, damn and blast it, we had a connection, I know it. After Vauxhall I wasn’t sure... of her feelings, only my own. And yet...” He sighed. “How do you tell if a woman likes you?” he asked despairingly.

“Generally, it’s in the eyes, I find,” said the viscount.

“I’d swear she was ready enough to accept me last night. Or why the devil would she even accept the invitation to meet my family?”

“Lady Holbrook?” hazarded the viscount.

“Even so, I cannot believe she would lead me on so. What the hell happened between last night and this morning?”

“She got cold feet?”

“Yes, but why?” Robert frowned fiercely at the salt cellar, as if it were to blame for his troubles.

“What did you say to her exactly?”

“I told her that what I was offering was a marriage of convenience. It was on that basis that I approached her in the first place.”

“And she had given you to understand that she would accept you?”

He opened his mouth to say yes and stopped. “Well, no,” he admitted reluctantly. “At the Levington ball she told me that if I was to offer, she would decline.”

Ashford raised his eyebrows as if to say there you go, then .

“You need to understand the context. She was angry with me, she thought I had insulted her. It was a misunderstanding.” He rearranged the salt cellar on the table.

“Besides, we had moved on from that. At Vauxhall...” he rubbed his face.

“I thought there was a spark, something... but I don’t know.

It might be all on my side. I was unsure of her feelings, so I presented a pragmatic offer.

I thought it would be the one she would accept. ”

“I see.” Ashford set his cutlery on his empty plate and pushed it aside, taking up his wine instead. “Why are you so upset?”

“I’ve lost another three weeks—”

“Apart from that?”

“Wounded pride, I suppose.”

“Seems to me like you might be a little envious of the other fellow, whoever he is.”

“I’m not envious. I’m annoyed! She deceived me. I thought she was free to pursue a contract when clearly she is not. If her affections are truly engaged, then there is no question—damn and blast, I like her!” I want her! The thought, fierce and disconcerting, made itself felt.

“Well, there’s been no announcement of an engagement yet. Did she say she had an understanding with the fellow?”

“No.” He drained his glass and waved the waiter over again. When both glasses had been topped up, the man stepped back again.

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” said Ashford with a smile.

“You’re right, but how do I pursue a woman who has made it so clear she doesn’t want me?”

“I don’t want to give you false hope, Rob, but I’d hesitate to put that construction on her refusal.”

Robert’s eyebrows lifted and his heart leaped. “You think I used the wrong tack?”

Ashford shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps, if you’re right about there being a spark between you. That kind of thing is hard to mistake.” He paused and added, “You did kiss her?”

“I did,” Robert flushed. “She ran from me,” he admitted.

“Ah, well, that does rather put a different complexion on things.”

“I know,” said Robert miserably.

“Do you want her?”

“Desperately!” said Robert, pushed into admitting the truth. The wine had clearly loosened his tongue.

“Hm, I thought so.”

“You thought—”

Ashford smiled.

“Stop that!” said Robert.

“Stop what?” asked the viscount innocently.

“That—that smirk!”

The viscount’s grin widened. “Well, you can take your bat and ball and go home, or you can try again...”

“You think I should?”

Ashford swirled the wine in his glass and smirked. “For what it’s worth, I think you should try, yes.”

“I’m not about to push myself on an unwilling woman!”

“Not suggesting you should. Just test the water, see if she is willing to let you kiss her again.”

Robert eyed his friend thoughtfully. That kiss at Vauxhall had been so fleeting ...perhaps a second kiss would prove more successful? A thorough, proper kiss?

“Just saying, if you want her, you need to make an effort to attach her. If her feelings are truly engaged elsewhere—” he shrugged to finish the thought. “But if it’s just a ploy to make you jealous...”

“But why would she do that?”

“Females like to have some power, too.” Ashford finished his glass and asked the waiter for a whisky.

He blinked his greenish hazel eyes over the glass, and Robert wondered for a moment if the shine in them was caused by the light or something else.

Robert shook his head, “Miss Watson isn’t like that.”

“If you say so,” Ashford swallowed the whisky and topped up his glass from the bottle on the table.

Robert reached for his own glass, his thoughts consumed by Miss Watson.

Her behavior was inexplicable. It behooved him to make one last effort to change her mind.

If that failed, he would be forced to retreat and try the Grenfell girl.

He shuddered. For good or ill, I want Miss Sarah Watson, and damn it all, I’m not giving up without a fight.