And then she let out a long sigh, feeling the strength leave her as Oxford’s horrible words repeated themselves over and over inside her head. Of course, he was right. She’d received two proposals in her lifetime, and neither of them had had anything to do with her. Oxford had needed the money he would receive from her dowry, and Ralston…Ralston was attempting to keep her reputation intact which, while honorable, was not exactly the most romantic of notions. Why couldn’t someone, somewhere, want her for her?

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought. What a thorough mess. She bowed her head and slumped, her shoulders squeezing the back of a padded chair positioned near the door as hard as she could, her muscles protesting the movement. She took deep, cleansing breaths and wondered how long she could stay in this room without being missed.

“You should not be here by yourself.”

She stiffened at the firm words, but did not turn around, unwilling to show her tear-stained face to Ralston. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw Oxford coming from this direction. Did something happen? Are you all right?”

Instead, she whispered into the darkness, “Please go away.”

There was a pause, followed by a shift in the air around them as he stepped closer, reaching out to her. “Callie?” he said, and the quiet concern in his voice tore at her heart. “Are you all right? My God. Did Oxford touch you? I’ll kill him.”

She took another deep breath. “No…No. He did nothing. I am fine. I should just appreciate your leaving before my…reputation…becomes an issue.”

He gave a little laugh. “I think we’re rather past that, don’t you think?” She didn’t respond, and he pressed on, speaking to the back of her head. “That’s part of why I came to find you.”

She kept her viselike grip on the chair. “Ralston, please. Just leave.”

“I cannot,” he stepped closer, setting his hands to her shoulders as he spoke, his tone at once pleading and enticing. “Callie, you must give me a chance to convince you that my offer is a good one. Please. Marry me.”

It was all too much. She couldn’t bear it. Tears came again, fast and uncontrollable and entirely embarrassing. She stayed quiet, willing herself not to make a sound to give away her sorrow. He whispered again, close to her ear, the words so tempting and lovely. “Marry me.”

She bowed her head again. “I cannot.”

A pause. “Why?”

“I—I don’t want to marry you.” The untruth was almost too much to bear.

Anger began to edge into his voice. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Look at me and say it.”

There was a long pause as the words hung between them, and Callie considered her options. She had no choice. She turned and looked at him, thanking her Maker that her face remained in shadow as she did. Her voice trembling, she repeated, “I don’t want to marry you.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You do want me. Do you think I haven’t noticed how compatible we are? Intellectually? Physically?” When she didn’t respond he said, “Shall I prove it to you again?” His lips were so close to hers, and she was so aware of him. The breath of his words caressed her in a way that made her want nothing more than to close the scant distance between them and take the kiss she yearned for. “You know I shall give you everything.”

She closed her eyes against the words and their dark promise. “Not everything,” she said, sadness in her tone.

“Everything I can give you,” he vowed, reaching up to touch her face and pulling back when she flinched, almost violently.

“And what shall happen when that is not enough?” The question fell between them.

He brought a hand down hard on the chair behind her, and Callie flinched at the sound that his palm made on the wood. “What more do you want, Callie? I’m rich. I’m handsome…”

She cut him off with a pained, frustrated laugh. “Do you think I care about any of that?” she said, angry and sad and hurt all at the same time, “I’d have you poor and ugly—I don’t care—as long as you—”

His gaze narrowed on her as she stopped the flow of words. “As long as I, what?”

As long as you loved me.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

He let out a harsh breath and tried again, confusion making him frustrated and angry. “What do you want from me? Name it, and I’ll give it to you! I’m a marquess, for God’s sake!”

That was it. She’d had enough. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody king. I’m not marrying you!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Any number of reasons!”

“Give me one decent reason!” He was so close to her, so angry, and she said the first thing that came into her head.

“Because I love you!”

They were both surprised by the words. He recovered first. “What?”

She shook her head, tears spilling over. When she spoke, her voice was laced with self-deprecating humor, her only defense against this awful, awkward moment. “Please, don’t make me say it again.”

“I—” He stopped, uncertain of his words.

“You don’t have to say anything. In fact, I’d prefer you not say anything. But there it is. I can’t marry you. Because it would kill me to spend the rest of my days with you when you are only marrying me out of some newfound—and misplaced—sense of honor and duty.”