The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(81)

“Why me?” she called when he’d taken three steps. “Surely there are ladies of your own station who are wanting of a title and fat in the pockets.” That you needn’t come here and put an offer to me. Cleopatra clamped her lips tight to keep from blurting out those unspoken words.

The marquess wheeled back, that enigmatic grin affixed to his lips. “That is why, Miss Killoran. I might be a rake, battling back creditors and fast approaching dun territory, but I’m also a man who appreciates directness and honesty. You’re wise with your brother’s business and unafraid to go toe-to-toe with some men that even I would be wary of.”

He’d been watching her that closely, then, at the Devil’s Den. Cleopatra frowned, unsure what to make of that revelation.

“Nor do you cower. As such, I’d take marriage to you over any simpering debutante who converses about the weather and her needlepoint.” Dropping a quick bow that ended all questions, the marquess turned on his heel and left.

Cleopatra stood there after he’d gone. The longcase clock’s ticking was inordinately loud in the parlor, and she focused on that overwhelming beat. Never before had she been more relieved with a person’s abrupt departure, which given the hell she’d endured in St. Giles and the monsters whose company she’d suffered through in Diggory’s gang, was saying a good deal, indeed. He wanted to marry her.

It could be done . . . would be done, if she simply agreed to the cool, businesslike terms laid forth by Lord Landon. Marriage had never been anything she’d aspired to. Quite the opposite. She’d learned early on, after Diggory’s earliest wives had married him, and then promptly taken their own lives rather than suffer his abuse, that she wanted no part of marriage.

Everything’s changed.

Cleopatra’s legs weakened, and she sank onto the edge of Penelope’s sofa.

“Ya going to pretend ya aren’t out there?” she asked into the quiet.

“Depends.” Adair’s muffled voice came from outside the door Lord Landon had closed on his way out.

She dug her fingertips into her temples and rubbed. “On what?”

“You looking for company?”

Her lower lip quivered, and she blasted herself for that weakness, but Lord help her, she could not stop it. After all he’d learned about her parentage early this morn, she’d simply expected he’d want nothing more to do with her. Instead, he’d stood outside the closed parlor door listening. To what end? Because he’d been instructed to be there? Or because he wanted to be there? “I might be,” she said when she trusted herself to speak.

Adair pushed the door open and stepped inside. He did a quick sweep of the room before settling his focus on her.

Cleopatra stood and moved behind the sofa, needing space, fearing what he’d say. In this instance, it was far safer to attend the dreadful offer Lord Landon had made her than the final words she’d offered to Adair earlier today.

He pushed the heavy panel closed and leaned against it, studying her through his thick lashes.

At an impasse, Cleopatra plucked at the satin brocade upholstery. “’e offered me marriage.”

“Oi know. Oi ’eard it.”

There should be outrage over his listening in on her conversation with the marquess. Instead, she was simply grateful she didn’t have to recount the exchange. She tried to make sense of his emotionless tones.

Adair pushed away from the door and strolled over. She silently damned him for being so coolly unaffected. So calm when her nerves were stretched so tight. She was one wrong word from losing control.

He stopped before her and brushed his knuckles over her jaw in a caress so fleeting she might have imagined it were it not for the heat left by his touch. “Wot are ya going to do?”

She jerked her chin up. “Does it matter? Oi marry ’im then my time ’ere is done. The agreement between our families is met and ya don’t ’ave to ’ave one of Diggory’s whelps underfoot.” Her lower lip quivered, and she quickly caught it between her teeth.

Adair’s gaze, however, fell to her mouth, taking in that sign of her weakness. Why must he look so closely? “Oi should have said something,” he said quietly. “Oi didn’t know wot to say because Oi didn’t expect it . . .” He grimaced. “About your . . . your . . .”

“Father,” she said bluntly, not allowing him to dance around the truth of her origins.

Loathing so strong flashed in his eyes that she took a step back, ravaged by it, hating herself for having come to care so very much about this man’s opinion of her. “Diggory was never your father,” he said in graveled tones. “’e gave you life, and that was likely the only good thing he ever did in his sorry existence.” Adair held her gaze. “An Oi’ll always ’ate him for wot he did to me and mine . . .”

Tears clouded her vision. How could she truly expect him to forgive her connection to the beast who’d tortured him? She glanced away, but Adair, with his tender touch, forced her eyes back to his.

“But Cleopatra, Oi hate him as much for what he did to you. You aren’t responsible for his crimes. You aren’t him.”

This from the man who’d been unable to divorce her connection to Broderick Killoran? “But you said . . .”

He made a low sound of protest. “I know what I said,” he hastily cut in. “Oi said ya weren’t to be trusted. Oi doubted you at every turn. But I was wrong. You’ve more honor and strength and courage than most people Oi know.”