To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(97)

“You knew I was in love with you?”

She huffed in irritation. “Of course.”

“I see,” he said slowly, which was as far from the truth as any two words he’d ever uttered in his life. He saw nothing. Women were entirely perplexing creatures.

“Of course you don’t,” she said matter-of-factly.

“No,” he agreed.

“I knew you loved me,” she explained slowly, as one might to a child. “I knew I loved you. You, however, seemed to know neither of these things, and, moreover, seemed to think that proposing to another woman was somehow a satisfactory resolution to our situation.” He could see her getting worked up again just speaking of it, and he hastily headed her off before she could get into a proper fury, because Diana in a proper fury was a dangerous thing.

He took a deep breath. “I’m not good at things like this,” he confessed. Diana let out a laugh that was an extremely close relation to a snort. “All right,” he amended, “I’m utterly rubbish at this. I made a mistake. But I’ve never had to—well, this is going to make me sound like a prize ass—”

“Too late.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a withering look. She smirked back at him. “I’ve never had to try terribly hard with women, you see.”

She lifted an eyebrow with such expressive skepticism that he was surprised barbed insults didn’t spring into midair between them, fully formed. “You’re right, that does make you sound like a prize ass.”

It should not have been alluring to hear her insult him, and yet somehow it was. He was beginning to think himself curiously perverse where she was concerned—first the freckles, and now this?

“But—well—you know. The title. The money. The… well, my appearance. I’m told it’s tolerable.” He gave her his best rakish smile. Naturally, it seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever, which was of course all part of the appeal she held for him. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say they were lining up, but… it was never terribly difficult. And I never promised them anything, and they knew not to expect anything. We didn’t go so far as to shake on it, like you and I did, but it was the same general understanding. And there were never any issues, because we both knew the rules.

“But, with you… the rules changed. I found myself feeling things that I’ve never felt for anyone before, that I’ve never let myself feel for anyone. Caring for people is dangerous, you see. I learned that one the hard way.”

“With your brother,” she said quietly.

He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “I was… in a bad way after he died. I was grieving him, and it wasn’t so long after my father had died, either. My father was a bit of a bastard, but it’s still something to find yourself all alone in the world at the age of two-and-twenty, with an indebted estate and a whole host of people who are depending on you for their very livelihood. I acted out a bit, I suppose. And I realized that it was easier that way, to play the character rather than to be myself. If everyone believed the idea of who the Marquess of Willingham was, I didn’t have to worry about any of them knowing who I really was instead.”

“I understand that,” she said under her breath, and he believed her—he believed her as he would have believed no one else in that moment, because of course she did. She had been doing much the same thing he had, for years and years.

“So when I found myself caring too much for you, I knew I had to be careful—I couldn’t scare you away. So I thought I was coming up with the next best option—a way to have you without really having you. Without insulting you by asking for your hand.”

“I might have overreacted last night,” she said, surprising him. “I think I owe you an apology, too. You were trying to find a way to make things work within the boundaries we’d set. You were only doing what I’d asked you to do—you weren’t demanding anything I wasn’t ready to give.”

“I am,” he said. He reached out to take her hands. “Demanding things, that is. If you—” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “That is, if you’ve truly changed your mind.”

“Jeremy,” she said, her eyes flicking back and forth between their entwined hands and his face.

“If you still don’t wish to marry, tell me now,” he said, plunging on recklessly, while he still had the courage. “If you want me to be your lover for the next forty years, I’ll gladly do that instead—I’ll do whatever it takes, Diana, to keep you with me.” His gaze was locked on hers, and her eyes, as she gazed steadily back at him, were suspiciously bright.

A small dimple started to form in one cheek as she stared at him, a precursor to that lopsided smile that he loved so much. “You know, there are plenty of more eligible misses on the market. There’s no need to settle for a widow with a sharp tongue,” she said, and that was all he needed in the way of encouragement.

“I love sharp tongues. I should find married life insufferably dull if it didn’t begin with at least three verbal lashings before breakfast.”

“Only verbal ones?” she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

“We can negotiate on that,” he said in a strangled sort of voice.

“I thought I never wished to marry again,” she said slowly. “I didn’t think anything was worth risking my independence for, and I didn’t like the idea of relying on someone else—expecting things from them—ever again.”