Page 82 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville

“Fidelity?”

His gaze locked with hers. “Precisely.”

She swallowed hard, then went to the bed to retrieve her drawers. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

Stepping over to the bed, he tugged her into his arms. “I’m not saying I can’t be faithful—just that I don’t know if I can promise it. I’ve never tried before.”

Her eyes were overly bright as she glanced up at him. “That’s not good enough for me, I’m afraid.”

His blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“Oliver, when I heard you’d gone off to the brothel—”

“Where I didn’t bed a single whore,” he cut in. “I spent the whole night drinking. That’s all, I swear.”

“Yes, I gathered as much. But I didn’t know that at the time. And no matter how much I told myself I had no right to expect fidelity from you, it hurt. Almost more than I could bear. I can’t imagine how much it would hurt if we were married, and I don’t want to find out.”

He stared down at her, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. “If you’re asking me to vow undying love or some such nonsense—”

“I know better than to ask that of you,” she said in a pained whisper. “But I deserve more than a husband by half measures. You were the one to teach me that.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. “You’re refusing me,” he said flatly. Incredulously.

She reached up to cup his cheek with a disarming tenderness. “You don’t really want to marry—admit it. You never did.”

“You don’t know what I want.” Catching her hand in his, he pressed a hard kiss into the palm. “I wantyou.”

“But on your terms. I can’t accept those terms.” Tugging her hand from his, she wrapped her arms about her waist. “I think you should leave now. The servants will be stirring soon.”

“Good. They’ll find us together, and then you’ll have no choice.”

Mutiny shone in her face. “I always have a choice. But youdidpromise not to embarrass me in the future. Do you now mean to break that promise?”

Shame rose in him, an emotion so foreign to him that he didn’t recognize it at first. It warred with the desperation rising in his chest at the thought that she really might not marry him.

“Maria, please—” he began, then broke off. Deuce take her! This was the second time in one night she had him begging her. He’d never begged a woman for anything.

“You’re being foolish,” he growled. He strode about the room, picking up his clothes and yanking them on without a care for how they looked. “I’ll leave, but I’m not going to ruin you and let you suffer the consequences alone, no matter what you say about it. We’re both tired. It’s been a long day . . . and night. We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“Won’t it?” Marching up to her, he pulled her close for a blatantly carnal kiss. When she stood stiff in his arms, he drew back with a scowl. Her resistance wouldn’t last. “I can be very persuasive when I want.”

Only after he saw that he’d unsettled her did he turn on his heel and leave. But her words tormented him the entire way back to his room:You mean for us to have a fashionable English marriage like that of your parents.

Blast it to hell—that was the last thing he wanted.

But could he manage anything different? Because she was right: she did deserve a better husband than that. He just didn’t know if he could be that husband.

Yet it made no difference. He’d ruined her and he wasn’t about to let her suffer for his rash act, no matter how much the idea of marriage terrified him.

Tomorrow he was getting a special license. Then they would marry. And that was that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

After Oliver left, Maria stood frozen in place. Had she really just refused to marry the man who’d ruined her? Was she out of her mind?

I’m not saying I can’t be faithful—just that I don’t know if I can promise it.