Page 97 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville

“So how did you get into my room?”

He shrugged. “Climbed in through the window. It wasn’t locked.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Through the years, I’ve gained quite a bit of experience at climbing through women’s windows. Though usually I’m climbing out.”

That reference reminded her why she’d fled him in the first place. “You shouldn’t have come.”

She regretted the blunt statement when an expression of pain crossed his face. “Look here, Maria. I made a mistake by trying to push you into marriage. I should have given you more time to consider it, before running off to gain a special license.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “But you can’t marry Hyatt. You don’t believe me when I say it, but he’s clearly a fortune hunter—”

“I know.”

He blinked. “What?”

She just couldn’t tell him the whole story. It was too mortifying to have him know what a fool she’d been, putting her faith in such a man. “I’m not marrying him. You needn’t worry about that.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “All the more reason that you should marry me.” He strode up to grip her arms. “I know that the only thing I have to commend me as a husband is my title, but—”

“Don’t say that,” she protested. “It’s not true.”

“Then why did you leave me without a word?” he asked, his voice so hurt that she cursed herself.

“Because you don’t really want to marry me. You’re only doing it to assuage your conscience for having taken my innocence.”

He uttered a harsh laugh. “You’re the first woman ever to accuse me of having a conscience.”

“That’s only because they don’t know you.” Her throat raw with feeling, she reached up to stroke his stubbled cheek. “ButIdo. I know that you’re a good man.”

Bleakness showed on his sharp features as he released her. “Don’t lie to yourself about that. I want you as my wife, but not if you’re convinced I deserve you. I assure you, I don’t.”

The flat tone of his voice made her heart ache. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “Youarea good man. You just don’t trust yourself to behave like one—and how can I trust you when you don’t trust yourself?”

“You can’t,” he said coldly. “You don’t know who I am . . .whatI am. If you did, you would never even consider marrying me. I long ago proved myself to be—” A low curse erupted from him.

Long ago? Her blood began to race. “This is about what happened to your parents that night at the hunting lodge, isn’t it?” She laid her hand on his arm. “You still feel guilt over that. But just because you weren’t there in time to stop it doesn’t mean you caused it.”

“That isn’t why I feel guilty!” He snatched his arm freeand paced to the window, where he stared out over the inn yard.

“Tell me,” she pleaded. Mrs. Plumtree was right—he desperately needed to talk about this cancer that was eating at him.

His only answer was silence.

“I know that you quarreled with your mother,” she persisted. “Your grandmother told me that. But she didn’t know what you quarreled about.”

“Thank God,” he muttered.

“It can’t be that bad.”

He shot her a blistering glance. “You don’t know a damned thing about it.”

“Which is why you must tell me. So I can understand.”

“You can’t possibly understand.”

“Was your quarrel over your father? Is that it?”

“The quarrel was over . . . I did something so . . . unconscionable that . . .” Dragging his fingers through his hair, he gave a shudder. “I can’t tell you. If I do, you won’t marry me.”

“I won’t marry you if you don’t,” she said softly.

“Damn it all to hell.” His voice was desperate.