A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(21)

“I did. Once. When I was just a foolish girl thinking you the very sun that my world revolved around but people change. Feelings change.”

He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I never meant to hurt you, Lydia, but I could never have lived up to your ideal. I don’t know if any mortal man could have.”

“I know that now. I was a girl. I am a woman now.”

“I noticed,” Marcus said with a raffish curve of his lips. “I know how to please you, Lydia, and I intend to please you frequently and exhaustively in the marriage bed. Would that be so very bad?” He bent his head to kiss her.

She averted her face. “I can’t deny my attraction to you but lust is not love, Marcus. To my understanding a man can perform the animal act of coition in virtually any circumstance without emotional engagement of any kind.”

The smile in his eyes vanished, his gaze narrowed. “You imply men and women don’t have an equal capacity to love.”

She looked perplexed. “Do they? Do you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Marcus raked a hand through his hair with a groan. “There are differences. To a man, lust and love are commingled, the latter cannot exist without the former. A man doesn’t express love by spewing poetic nonsense, Lydia, but by worshipping a woman’s body and conversely a woman does not perform acts of love with the passion you display unless she feels something.” He grazed a finger along her cheek. “Why do you fight the attraction between us? Do you think such passion exists between every betrothed couple?”

“Why, Marcus?” she cried. “Why can’t you understand I need more than you can offer me? Why do you persist when we both know you don’t love me? Is your pride so great that you would condemn us both to misery rather than let me go?”

“Misery?” Bloody hell! I’ve just taken her to paradise and she speaks of misery? The thought filled him with exasperation, vexation. It was an effort to moderate his reply. “Is that how you really envision a life with me?”

“Much of that life would exist outside the conjugal bed. I won’t enter such a marriage, Marcus. I won’t be cast aside for other women. I realize that many women turn a blind eye regarding their husband’s paramours, but I am not one of them. I won’t enter any marriage without friendship, respect, and if not love, at least the hope of genuine affection?”

Once more he looked pained. “Why must you only assume the worst of me, Lydia?”

“You have given me little reason until now to do otherwise.”

“Have you so little faith in my integrity?” Where the devil have I gone wrong?

For the second time, Marcus felt as if she’d struck him. “Friendship. Respect. Genuine affection. Even after this time together, you still don’t believe there is hope of having any of this with me?”



He regarded her intently, patiently, forcing her to search her own heart. His moment of vulnerability moved her more than she liked. Her second glimpse behind his mask set her stomach fluttering and pulse racing with hope. Until this moment she had thought him nothing better than a shallow, self-centered cad, but how much was really a fa?ade?

She wondered if they might be able to build a true life together, if his earlier declaration of affection could grow in time into genuine respect, into love, but then briskly reined herself in with the dimming apprehension of what her reality might really entail—being left behind again or, even worse, settled at some dingy diplomatic domicile while he conducted various illicit liaisons.

While he didn’t flaunt them, Marcus’ amours were no secret from her. How else could he have learned the mysteries of a woman’s body but by long practice? He’d filled her with bliss beyond her wildest imaginings and now the thought of him with any other woman, kissing her, doing those same wicked things with his tongue, filled her with a jealous passion. How could she bear to see him with another? How could she ever trust him again with her heart?

“I— I don’t know, Marcus,” she spoke in a strangled whisper.

Another emotion flashed briefly across his face. Pain? Remorse? Regret? It was there and gone.

“Then perhaps you are right,” he said, his manner suddenly rigid, his face grim. “It is exceedingly unfair of me to make such a monstrous demand of you simply over my injured pride. Therefore, I offer my most profuse apologies for having molested you with my unwanted attentions.”

“Monstrous demands? Unwanted attentions?” Lydia’s throat constricted on the words.

“Why, I thought I was quite clear, Miss Trent.” Marcus’ smile was full, brilliant and brittle. “I concede the field. I grant your wish to end our betrothal.”

*



They rode another half hour in strained silence until the chaise pulled into the cobbled yard of a coaching inn. Marcus was quick to alight, barking directions to the postillion before turning back to Lydia.

“Pray wait here, Miss Trent, while I procure a private chamber where you might take refreshment and repair yourself. I’ll send Sally when all is in readiness. Will an hour be sufficient to your needs?”

“Yes, Ma— My lord. I can be ready to depart again within the hour.”

“Very good then.” He tilted his head in stiff acknowledgment and turned toward the public taproom in long, purposeful strides.