Clara was startled that Hawksley had agreed to such a punishment. She had presumed he would not be satisfied until the two were facing the gallows.
“Are you disappointed?”
He lifted a shoulder. “There is still a part of me that thirsts for blood, and should I discover they have ever dared return to England, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through their hearts, but there is another part of me that only wishes Fredrick to rest in peace.” His expression abruptly softened. “He would not wish for scandal to touch our family.”
“Unlike you?”
He briefly stiffened before he visibly forced himself to loosen his muscles.
“I deserve that, I suppose,” he murmured. “I have certainly devoted a great deal of my life to playing the role of the wicked son.”
“To punish your father?”
“In part.” He took a moment, as if carefully considering his words. “But more than that, I think that I had simply accepted my father’s assurances that I would never be of any worth. Why even make an effort when I was doomed to fail?”
She stilled at the stark words, her eyes darkening with pain. “Hawksley, you should not say such a horrid thing.”
“Why? It is the truth,” he retorted, his gaze easily capturing and holding hers. “Or it was until I plucked you from that carriage. Since then I have begun to hope that I could be more. That I could become the sort of gentleman who was worthy of earning your love.”
Clara abruptly turned away. Oh . . . damn. He was always so bloody good at this.
“I would believe you more easily if you had not lied to me.”
She heard him move to stand behind her, although he was wise enough not to try to touch her.
“I know I made a mistake, Clara,” he admitted in a voice raw with emotion. “I was a fool, but I swear if you will give me the opportunity I will never disappoint you again.”
She bit her lip as a sharp ache flared through her heart.
She had thought it would be difficult to forgive him for deceiving her. And even more difficult for him to restore her trust.
In truth, the only difficult thing seemed to be keeping herself from tossing herself into his arms and never letting go.
“I need to know why,” she forced herself to demand. “Why did you hide the truth of who you are?”
He heaved a ragged sigh. “It is . . . complicated.”
Slowly turning, she met his gaze squarely. “Most of life is complicated.”
“Yes.” Lifting his hands, he scrubbed them over his pale countenance before at last continuing. “At first I did not tell you simply because I had refused to take on the title. I told myself that I would not do so until my brother’s murderer was hanging from the gibbet.” His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I now realize that I did not want the title because then I would have to accept that Fredrick was truly gone. And of course, there was the horror of knowing that I had no choice but return to my family and the duties awaiting me. Even in my own mind it seemed far preferable to remain Hawksley.”
She blinked, caught off guard by his stark realization of his own motives. In her experience, men rarely bothered to try and comprehend what led them to behave as they did.
Just being a man was enough to excuse any stupidity.
It was something.
“And when you asked me to be your wife?” she ruthlessly prodded. “Surely you did not believe you could keep such a thing hidden?”
“I . . .” He heaved a deep sigh.
“What?”
“It is all rather a muddle now,” he confessed with a grimace. “But I suppose it all comes down to fear.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “You afraid? I do not believe it.”
“You should. I have never been so frightened in my life.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
She gave a short laugh of disbelief. “You are not making any sense.”
“No?” He stepped closer, his gaze smoldering with suppressed emotion. “For God’s sake, Clara, I could barely convince you to marry me when you thought I was a penniless gamester living in the stews. I knew you would balk when you discovered I was a viscount.”
A faint hint of color touched her cheeks at the truth of his accusation. Had she known who he was from the beginning, she never would have allowed him to worm his way into her heart. No matter how tempting.
“You could not have kept it hidden forever,” she at last pointed out in stiff tones.
He smiled wryly. “As I said, it was all a muddle. I cannot claim to possess your powerful logic or ability to think in a rational manner.”
He was very convincing, of course. Or perhaps she just desperately wished to believe him. But still he had not yet banished her greatest fear.
Gathering her courage, she at last decided to confront him directly. That was always the most logical approach, was it not?
Unfortunately, it was not always the easiest.
She unconsciously squared her shoulders. “Hawksley?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Did . . . did it occur to you that by wedding me, you would have a lasting revenge upon your father?”
He briefly closed his eyes as his lips twisted. “Of course I considered the notion my father would not approve, and I would not be human not to take some small pleasure in aggravating the pompous fool.” He held up his hand as her lips parted in anger. “But if you think I would tie myself to a woman for eternity for the simple pleasure of annoying my father, you must be daft. Besides which, if I truly wished to punish my father, I would simply refuse to wed at all.” He held her wary gaze with the sheer force of his will. “There could be nothing more cruel to such a proud gentleman than to realize that his ancient title was destined to be handed over to a distant cousin he considers the worst sort of mushroom. That would be a true revenge.”
Oh . . . rats, rats, rats.
He was not supposed to undermine her with such ease. Not when it left her with no excuses left to deny her feelings for him.
Not when it left her vulnerable to the possibility of becoming his wife.
“No,” she whispered in a husky voice. “I cannot.”
Not surprisingly, his brows snapped together with a gathering impatience.
“Why?”
“Because I shall only make a fool of myself and you as well,” she burst out. “I am not at all suitable to be a viscountess or a let alone a countess.”
“According to my father, there is no one less suitable to be a viscount, let alone an earl, than myself, so we shall be perfect for one another,” he dryly retorted.
Her lips trembled as she battled the threatening tears. “Please do not jest, Hawksley.”
Without warning, he was moving forward to grasp her hands in a tight grip.
“Clara, my love, I do not understand what absurdity has made you believe that you are unsuitable, but I can assure you that my desire to wed you has nothing to do with making you my viscountess and everything to do with the fact that without you my life is empty.” His eyes darkened to indigo. “I love you. And in truth, I do not believe that I can bear a future without you.”
Her heart jolted painfully against her chest at his fierce words. He loved her. Loved her, Miss Clara Dawson. If only . . .
No, she sternly warned herself.
There was never any point in wishing for what could not be.
“Hawksley, you know that society will never accept me, nor will your family,” she said in tones that defied argument.