He inhaled slowly. This was all starting to make sense to him. Sick, stomach-turning sense.
He pulled her to a halt, turning her to face him.
His eyes were good this morning. As good as they ever were now. He could avoid the stump in his path and make out the vague shapes of the trees and ruined archways, if not the color or form of the birds winging through them.
It was the cruelest of temptations, seeing this much of her and knowing he’d never see more.
He could make out the wide, reddish curve of her mouth and that aura of dark hair, set against the pale . . . was it yellow? . . . of her frock. But he couldn’t see well enough to judge her emotions.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. “This is all a little story in your mind. Since the day you arrived, you’ve been living out some bizarre fantasy. Your own little castle, and your own scarred, tortured Ulric. That’s why you won’t leave this place and why you won’t let me be. Why you come down every morning and watch me sleep. I’m like a plaything.”
“No,” she protested. He could see her head shake vigorously. “No, no, no. I’m not living in a fantasy.”
“Get one thing clear, Miss Goodnight. You had better not be forming expectations.”
“Expectations of what?”
“Of me. Of us. Of romance. Just because you grew up on all those fanciful stories, don’t think this is one of them. I won’t be a party to any of this. I’m not the shining hero in disguise.”
She exhaled audibly. “I know. I know. You’re a dangerous ravisher, with brothel bills as long as my arm. Really, I can’t imagine you have any remaining ways to communicate the message, short of stitching ‘A WARNING TO WOMEN’ on your breeches placket. I’m not a ninny. It’s understood. I have not cast you in any chivalric fantasy.”
“Oh, no? Then why did you kiss me like that the first night?”
Her reply was slow in coming. “Just . . . how did I kiss you the first night?”
“Like you wanted to,” he accused. “Like you’d always wanted to. Like you’d spent years waiting for just that kiss. From me.”
She covered her face with one hand and moaned. “Why must this be so mortifying? Oh, that’s right. Because it’s my life.”
Ransom kept silent, waiting for an explanation.
She lowered her hand. “Believe me, Your Grace. You will never meet another woman with fewer expectations of romance. You’ve seen how Lord Archer and Miss Pelham and all these people treat me—like a na?ve little girl. Everyone’s always treated me that way. I’ve never had even one suitor. So yes, I kissed you like I’d been waiting to kiss you all my life. Because I’d been waiting to kiss someone all my life. Yours just happened to be the lips that met mine.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t kiss me like that was your first kiss.”
“Of course not.” She turned and resumed walking. “I kissed you like it would be my last.”
Her last?
The words kept tumbling through his mind as they walked toward the ruined folly. He could scarcely fathom the absurdity of them.
“That’s ridiculous. It’s like you’ve crammed your brain so full of fairy tales, you’ve squeezed out all the common sense. You’re clever, quick, attractive. Men should be clamoring for you.”
She took his arm and nudged him to the side, around an obstacle in their path. “My life thus far has featured a distinct lack of any such clamoring.”
“That’s only because you’re stuck living in your father’s soppy stories.”
“It’s not only that.” She started to drift away.
He tightened his arm, keeping her close at his side. “Wait.”