No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(85)

“I do know you,” she protested. “And I know exactly what you’ve done. You’ve repaired locks, built rat cages, guarded the door, fed hungry children, defeated Mr. Slag—”

“That was my duty, and protecting a beautiful woman and innocent children is no penance. At least, not the penance I deserve after the sins I’ve committed.”

She rose on her knees, taking his hands in hers. “What sins? Defending your country? Safeguarding your men? Killing an enemy who would have killed you if you hadn’t acted first?”

“Juliana, I was never supposed to come home. I was sent to die and take as many of the French with me as possible.”

“But you did come home, and you’re alive.” She took his face in her hands. “Act alive. Kiss me, Neil. Make love to me.”

He shook his head.

“Neil, I know how you feel. When I lost Davy, nothing else in my life mattered. I’d lost my sister and best friend, and then I lost her child. I wanted to die. But strange as it seems, this pitiful orphanage and the lost boys saved me. They gave me a home and a family. You can be part of that family.”

His body went rigid. “What are you saying?”

What was she saying? What was she saying to this man in the middle of the night, as she knelt on her bed, naked and vulnerable? “Marry me,” she whispered, wishing for all the world she did not have to be the one to ask him. Praying he would want her as much as she wanted him because she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him.

He shook his head, and she felt ice slide down her bare back.

“That’s not possible.”

“I see.” She sat back, feeling more naked than ever before. She reached for the coverlet and pulled it up and over her.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Juliana.”

She moved back and out of his reach when he extended a hand toward her.

“You simply do not want to marry me. I understand. I run an orphanage. No man of my station will ever want to marry me when I won’t return home.”

“No.” He took her shoulders in a firm grip. “That’s just it. I’m not of your station. I’m a bastard—”

“You are the acknowledged son of a marquess, Neil. That hardly makes you lowborn.”

“But not a legitimate son. My father’s legitimate son—the youngest, Christopher—died in the war. I was there that day, and I couldn’t save him.”

“Neil—”

He released her shoulders and stepped away. “It should have been me lying dead on that battlefield, not Chris.”

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Do you think God or fate or whatever you want to call it makes mistakes? You survived and you deserve to live a long, happy life with a family.” She could see the word family affected him. He swallowed convulsively. “I am sorry about your brother. So sorry. But you are the one who is here. And if you know me at all, you know I wouldn’t care if you were a cobbler or a beggar on the street. I love you.” She should stop saying that. She should stop ripping her armor off, especially when he possessed so many arrows.

“And what kind of husband would I be? I have no fortune, no title, I wake with nightmares.”

“You would be the husband I love,” she countered. “Do you think I’m perfect? I have a list of flaws as long as Rotten Row.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” She held up a finger. “I’m headstrong.” Another finger. “I’m impulsive.” Another finger. “I don’t think before I act.”

“That’s the same as impulsive.”

She scowled at him. “I repeat myself when making lists. I can’t keep a servant. I’m a horrible judge of character, if Mr. Goring is any example—I could go on all night. Whatever your imperfections, I love you despite them. The circumstances of your birth matter not a whit. It’s the two of us together that matter. Together we are stronger than anything.”

He gave her a long look, then shook his head. “I wish things were different.” He straightened his clothes and moved toward the door.

“That’s it then?” she called out. “You’re leaving?”

“I was always leaving. I’ll make sure the roof is repaired, and I’ll speak to Billy before I go.”

Her mind reeled as her body grew ice cold. “You won’t even try? You won’t even consider giving this…this family a chance?”

“This is the best thing for both of us.”

She reached for the closest object and took hold of a pillow, throwing it with all her strength across the room. Unfortunately, he reached up and caught it easily. “Arrogant man! Who are you to tell me what’s best for me?”

He tossed the pillow onto the bed. “You needn’t worry I’ll leave without making certain you’re safe.”

“Damn your bloody duty, Neil Wraxall,” she yelled. “I don’t want it.”

He went to the door, and she grabbed another pillow. She threw it, but the cushion thudded uselessly against the closed door.

Neil was gone.

*

Walking away from her had been the hardest thing Neil had ever had to do. It was also the right thing. She needed a peer—a man with rank and wealth and connections. Not a former soldier and a counterfeit hero. Even the boys at the orphanage deserved better. They needed a man they could emulate, not one who had been born into circumstances little different from theirs.