The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(26)

“The bad news…” Sebastian shut his eyes. “The bad news is, he says our arrangement is unremarkable, and that the best solution is for us to continue on as we were in all respects, except…” He trailed off and cast a wary glance at her.

“Except what?”

Sebastian was rarely reticent. But his jaw set and it took him a few moments to speak. “I want you to know that this idea did not come from me. I disclaim it entirely.”

“What is it?” Violet repeated. “How bad can his advice be?”

“He said I should marry you. That we should continue on as before.”

For one second, her entire body tensed. She found herself shrinking back in her chair. No. No. Not that. But he looked reluctant, not eager. Her heart pounded, but he looked as likely to sprout antennae as he was to propose. She let out a slow breath and arranged her lips into a semblance of a smile. “How amusing,” she croaked.

“I’m only repeating what he said.”

“Of all the useless advice.” Violet wrapped her arms around herself. “He thinks we should marry?” Her laugh sounded overloud. “Presumably you didn’t mention it was me, or he’d never have suggested such punishment.” She knew she was babbling, but so long as she kept talking, the idea couldn’t hurt her.

Sebastian sank lower in his chair. “Violet,” he muttered.

“He’s supposed to be so clever, and that’s the best he can manage?”

“Yes,” Sebastian muttered. “We’ve covered my unsuitability quite enough for now. Now can we just take a few steps back and consider—”

“Oh, why do that? Let’s just do as he says. Let’s get married after all.” If she could say it, she could make the notion safe: a joke, clearly labeled as such. A matter for derision, an item to be laughed at. Not something that would destroy her completely.

Sebastian’s lip curled up reluctantly. “Ha.”

“It would be fabulous. You could pretend to be busier and busier, and I would come give lectures in your stead. ‘Mr. Malheur says,’ I’d tell them. You could become a complete recluse.”

“Wouldn’t that be amusing,” Sebastian said in a flat voice.

“I can just see it now: the handbills for the event printed up, with ‘Mr. Sebastian Malheur’ in large print, and underneath that, ‘as portrayed by Violet Malheur, his wife.’”

He snorted.

“I’d put an advertisement in the paper: ‘Please address all hateful correspondence regarding scientific matters to Violet Malheur.’ That’s one aspect of your job I’d excel at. Nobody really likes me anyway; this way, they could go on hating me without a second thought.”

“Violet.” He had a small smile on his face, one that she knew all too well. It was his patient smile, the one he gave people who were dreadfully wrong, when he’d decided not to speak and embarrass them. His hands were clenched.

“What?” she demanded. “What did I say now? I was only joking.”

His smile didn’t alter, but he looked away from her. “It’s just… Oh, hell.”

Violet felt a tremor go through her, a shudder of emotion that jolted her shoulders before settling in her stomach. “I merely wished to lighten an uncomfortable moment. What did I do wrong now? I wasn’t trying to be difficult.”

He swallowed. His lids fluttered down, and his dark lashes—so unfairly long—shielded his eyes for a moment.

Finally, he looked up. “Violet,” he said calmly, “please don’t joke about marrying me.”

It was so unfair that she couldn’t even gasp in outrage. Not that she wanted to marry him. God, no. Quite the opposite. But that wasn’t the point. “Have it your way.” She straightened in her chair and looked away. “I won’t.”

She couldn’t put it aside, no matter how she tried. Of course she wasn’t the sort of woman who caught Sebastian’s fancy. He’d said as much himself. But they were friends of long standing. Couldn’t he even pretend to laugh? Was she so awful that even a joke about marrying her disgusted him?

“It’s not as if you raised any expectations,” she told him. “I know how things stand between us. I’m not up to your standards.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “I should never have said that.” His hands squeezed together. “I hate getting angry.”

“Why? Was it a falsehood?”

His lips pressed together. “I should… Perhaps I should have phrased it differently. But…” He looked up, as if beseeching the heavens to make her stop.

Her stomach cramped. It didn’t matter. Her pain was irrelevant. She’d never let herself do anything so foolish as want him. There was no point in feeling hurt simply because a man she refused to want didn’t want her back.

“Phrase it however you like,” she snapped. “The sentiment remains the same.”

He stood. His gaze caught hers. She didn’t want to look in his eyes, but she couldn’t look away. There was something wild in his expression—something feral and dark. Something she didn’t understand.

“Do you want to know why you don’t meet my standards?” he asked.

She shook her head in mortification.