“Tell me what’s the matter. I’ll—”
She knocked his hands away for the second time. “You’ll what?” she snapped. “Agree to leave my uncle alone?”
“I can’t do that.”
“And there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She jerked her head once in a nod and handed him back the key. “Then we are at an impasse. I’d like you to go now, please.”
“Mirabelle—”
“Go.”
He wanted to continue the argument, but reluctantly took the key and let himself out instead. Mirabelle was right—neither of them was willing to give in, and neither was in a position to stop the other from doing what the other pleased.
He stopped in the middle of the hall.
Not in a position to stop her, when what she pleased was to engage in an act of espionage against her own family? What if one of her uncle’s guests turned out to be an accomplice and caught Mirabelle poking about where she shouldn’t?
To hell with that.
He spun around and headed back to the room. She would see reason, damn it—or not—but either way, she would do as she was told. She would do what ever he thought was necessary to keep her safe. He was an earl, for God’s sake—that bloody well ought to count for something.
When he entered the room, she was standing at the window with her back to the door. He marched up to her and spoke to the back of her head.
“As this matter involves your safety, I’ve decided this conversation is not over. It will end when I am satisfied you understand what is at stake here. I have also decided…” He trailed off, uneasy suddenly that she hadn’t turned around. “Are you listening?”
“No.”
He opened his mouth, shut it again at the sound of a sniffle. He took one full step back. “Are you…are you crying?”
“No.” Her response was delivered on a hiccup.
“Dear God, you are.” Bewildered, horrified, he stood rooted to the spot, and said the first thing that came to mind. “I sincerely wish you wouldn’t.”
Even under duress he recognized it was a foolish thing to say, but bloody hell, the imp didn’t cry. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her cry. “Mirabelle—”
“Go away.”
He was tempted, sorely tempted, to do just that. And it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to justify his retreat. A gentleman never pressed his presence on a lady who desired to be left alone. He’d only be acquiescing to her demands if he left. It would be best if he gave her the time to compose herself, then they could work this business out.
But even while his mind whirled with all the reasons he could walk away, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t…imp, don’t.”
She pulled away from him. He pulled her back. He couldn’t stand it.
“I’m sorry, imp. I’m sorry. Please, don’t cry.”
She stilled against him, but the tears still came. He could hear it in the ragged catches of her breath. He held her, rocking gently, until her breathing smoothed into a steady rhythm.
“Won’t you tell me what this is about?” he asked softly, turning her in his arms.
She pulled back to look up at him. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know, but I haven’t any choice.” He wiped a lingering tear from her cheek. “Can’t you see—”
“You do have the choice,” she cried, pulling out of his arms. “You could stay here. You could let me go alone.”
“No,” he replied resolutely. “I cannot.”
“You won’t trust me to see to this myself.”
“This has nothing to do with trust.” He frowned at her. “Or perhaps a great deal to do with it. Why won’t you tell me the reason you’re crying?”
“I just did.”
“No, not all of it.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “We’re right back to where we started.”
“We wouldn’t have to be, if you’d talk to me.”
“And will you talk to me?” she asked with a hint of accusation. “Will you tell me how William knew of this, or why you’ve experience with counterfeiting, or why—”
“No.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Damn it, I don’t want you involved in it. In any of this.”
“As I don’t want you involved.”
“It’s entirely different,” he snapped.
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head and moved past him to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.
“I don’t want you to come,” she repeatedly quietly. “You won’t be welcomed.”
The words wounded, deeper than he would have expected or cared to admit, and in a force of habit, he lashed out in return.
“Lack of welcome never discouraged you. Consider it my revenge.”
Even as regret had him forming the words of an apology, she nodded once and left.