Beauty and the Blacksmith (Spindle Cove #3.5)(35)

“Better to be a ruined woman than a suspected thief. Don’t you agree?”

He didn’t agree, nor give any response at all.

“That missing brooch is gold, Aaron. It’s worth a great deal. Thieves are hanged for stealing less.”

“No one’s going to hang you. You’re not a thief. The items will turn up, or someone else will confess. They have no evidence, only suspicion.” He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. Their weight settled, heavy as a yoke. “Why tell everyone about last night and invite uncharitable gossip?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t care about the gossip.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then try a little harder.” Diana was frustrated now. Hadn’t he promised to trust that she knew her own mind?

She tried to explain. “When I came downstairs this morning and saw them all staring at me, I thought we were found out. For a moment, I was stricken by sheer terror. I was certain I’d be ruined. But then something changed. Once I’d resigned myself to the inevitability . . . I felt strangely free. Unashamed, excited. Aaron, I want people to know.”

“Well, I don’t. Not like this.” He released her and began pacing the smithy.

She watched him, perplexed. “I don’t understand. Aren’t we planning to marry?”

“Aye, but I wanted to wed you in a respectable fashion. If they hear about this, people will think we only married because I seduced you and you had no choice.”

“So this is about your pride,” she said. “Your reputation, not mine.”

“It’s both, Diana. But yes, I have a reputation, too. People respect me in this village. This is my home.”

“I hope it will be my home, as well.”

“Then think this through. What if word gets around London that you were defiled by a local craftsman? Good families might stop sending their young ladies to Spindle Cove. The whole village would suffer, and it would be my fault. I might not be able to support you then.”

This probably wasn’t the time to remind him that her dowry, while modest by aristocratic standards, could keep them comfortable for decades. He would only receive it as another insult.

“Aaron, I don’t know what to say. Except that perhaps you should have thought about all this before you carried me to your bed last night.”

He rubbed his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking last night. Obviously.”

Diana struggled to not take offense. She tried, very hard, to interpret his words in the kindest possible light.

When she’d come to his cottage last night, she’d done so with forethought and a full knowledge of the risks. However, he’d been taken by surprise to find her there. And he’d been in a vulnerable state, after a long day spent grappling with mortality and fatigue. Perhaps if he’d had time to think it all through, he would have sent her home and not made love to her.

But even so . . . How could he regret it now? What they’d shared had been so wonderful. At least, it had been wonderful for her. She felt ready to be with him, marry him, pledge her life to him.

Maybe he didn’t feel as ready as she did.

“Aaron, I understand if you’re afraid. I’m frightened, too. We knew it wouldn’t be easy to announce our plans, even under the best of circumstances. But I don’t see a way around telling the truth.”

“It’s easy,” he said. “We wait. In a day or two, this theft business is sure to be resolved. Then I’ll propose to you properly.”

“What if this theft business isn’t resolved? If I’m asked to explain myself, I’m stuck. My choices are between ‘suspected thief’ and ‘known fornicator.’ No matter what, I’m never going to be ‘Perfect Miss Highwood’ again. And it may seem strange, but I’m happy about that. I’m ready to just be me.” She looked him in the eye. “So there’s the question, I suppose. Do you love me? Or just some precious, perfect idea of me?”

His fingers tamed a stray lock of her hair. “Of course I love you. Perfect or not, I think the world of you, Diana. That’s why I can’t bear for our friends and neighbors to think something less.” He swept a gesture down her soiled frock. “I don’t want them believing you’re this kind of girl.”

She flung her arms wide. “Apparently, I am this kind of girl. And you didn’t seem to mind ten minutes ago.”

“That’s different. You know it’s different. There’s what happens between the two of us, and then there’s parading it for public view. We know how we feel, but to anyone else . . .” He cringed at his dark handprint sprawled lewdly over her breast. “You look like a lightskirt who’s entertained a gang of colliers.”

She recoiled, stung. “And yet I didn’t feel truly dirty until just this moment.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know exactly what you mean. You want a lightskirt in your bed at night, and by day you want a perfect virgin.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “But I need a man who knows me. Who wants me. And who isn’t afraid or ashamed for the world to see it.”

“So now I’m ashamed?” His gesture was impatient. “Diana, our night together wouldn’t be such a scandal if anyone—your friends, family, neighbors—suspected that you care for me. But they haven’t seen the slightest evidence of that. Have they?”