“Yes. No.” He stopped pacing. “Yes.”
“Well, if you’re certain,” she said unsteadily, hoping to tease him out of his mood.
He stepped closer to her and pinned her with one very unamused stare. “You were going to step in front of that gun.”
“Hardly necessary, as he was already aiming at me a good deal of the—”
“You know bloody well that’s not what I mean!”
Evie’s felt her eyes turn to saucers at McAlistair’s bellow. She watched, torn between feeling awful and fascinated, as he stormed to one end of the room and stormed back. He muttered, ran a hand through his hair once, twice, three times, until the majority of his dark locks slipped free from their tie and fell across his face—a face that held none of the cool assurance to which she was so accustomed. There were deep furrows across his brow, a muscle working in his jaw, and his lips—when they weren’t muttering—were peeled back in something akin to a snarl.
Misery lost to fascination, and to relief that he should show so much vigor so soon after being shot. Good Lord, the man was furious. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t even once considered the possibility that he was capable of such a temper.
Oddly enough, the knowledge that he was, and that he lost that temper because she’d thought to place herself in danger, made her feel stronger, even calm.
He stopped and stabbed a finger at her. “You were going to try for the gun. When his eyes closed. You were going to try.”
“Yes.” Remembering, she felt her stomach roll in a queasy circle. Perhaps not entirely calm, she amended, perhaps just better.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?”
“That I was closer.”
The snarl grew more pronounced.
“Well, I was.” Really, what did the man expect her to say?
He jabbed a finger at her. “You’re rash, impetuous, hard-headed, and reckless.”
She pursed her lips, thought about that, and decided she preferred the description over gentle, delicate, and naive. “I can live with that. Although—”
“You’ll marry me.”
“—I don’t…” She immediately forgot what she was about to say. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“You’ll marry me.”
Suspicion bloomed alongside hope. “Will I? Will I, really?”
“Unless you care to live in sin?” he inquired in a derisive tone.
“Not particularly.”
“Then we marry. I can’t protect you if we’re in separate houses, and you need looking after.”
Hope and suspicion were swallowed by absolute shock. “Looking after?”
“Yes, you—”
“That wasn’t a request for clarification,” she snapped. “It was a statement of disbelief.” Accompanied by a healthy dose of insult. “I most certainly do not need looking after. Furthermore—”
“Your connection to me is no longer secret. That in itself puts you in a precarious situation. In addition, you work for a dangerous cause. You visit the worst slums of London.” He jabbed his finger at her yet again. “There will be no more of that. You can find other ways of helping those women.”
She tossed her blanket aside. “How dare—”
“You sneak out of your home to sleep alone in the woods. You kiss strange men in those woods—”
“Man,” she corrected. “One man. You.”
“You thought to wrestle a gun from a lunatic.”
“I didn’t want to. And you did—”
“You gave your innocence to a near stranger.”
“A hermit, a soldier, and the man I love, you arrogant, heartless arse.”
He visually started at that, and for a moment, it looked as if he might relent, but then he shook his head, as if shaking off her words. “You’re being foolish—”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare tell me what I’m being. What I am. Who I am. I’ve had enough of that from you. More than enough.”
“Evie—”
She didn’t wait for the remainder of his sentence, couldn’t think of any reason she should. With tears of anger burning her eyes, she left the parlor at a run, intent on making it safely to her room, where she could fall apart in private.
He called for her again, at the bottom of the stairs just as she reached the top. But she didn’t turn around.
And he didn’t come after her.
McAlistair watched her go.
That hadn’t gone quite as he had planned.
He took hold of the banister and climbed the first step with the intention of following her. They’d have this out. She would listen until—
He winced when the door slammed hard enough to rattle his teeth.
Perhaps he’d wait until she’d settled, he decided, and stepped back down again.
She’d come around. She just needed time. He could give her that while they were at the cottage, and on the return trip to Haldon. Safety wasn’t such a concern at present, not with Herbert gone, and with Evie miles away from the work that put her in danger.
It would be best if he let her be for now—gave her the opportunity to see the sense in what he’d said.
And give himself the opportunity to come to grips with what she had said.
The man I love.