She watched as Mari hopped up from her place and smoothed out her skirts, turning to face the door—and Ralston. “It’s a lovely day,” she said.

“Indeed, it is, Lady Mariana,” came Ralston’s disembodied voice. Callie stomped her slippered foot in irritation. Did he have to be so very calm?

“I think I shall walk in the gardens,” Mariana said, conversationally.

“That sounds like a capital idea.”

“Yes. I rather thought so myself. If you’ll pardon me. Anne?” Callie watched as her sister dropped a quick curtsy and left the room, the traitorous Anne fast on her heels. Callie, instead, stayed precisely where she was, hoping that she could simply wait Ralston out. A gentleman wouldn’t corner her in the narrow space between bookshelves. And he’d certainly gone out of his way the night before to prove that he was a gentleman.

Silence fell, and Callie kept arranging books, willing herself to ignore Ralston’s arrival. Adams, Aeschylus, Aesop.

She noted his footsteps coming closer; saw him out of the corner of her eye standing at the end of the shelf, watching her. Ambrose, Aristotle, Arnold.

Yes, she would simply pretend he wasn’t there. How could he remain so silent? It was enough to try the patience of a saint. Augustine.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. Without taking her eyes from the shelf where she was aligning the spines of the books into a perfectly straight row, she said, churlishly, “I am not receiving.”

“Interesting,” he drawled. “Because, it appears you have received me.”

“No. You barged into my library without invitation.”

“Is that what this is?” he said, wryly. “I was not sure, what, with all the shelves being empty of books.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I am rearranging.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

“Which is why I am not receiving.” She emphasized the words in the hope that he would realize his rudeness and leave.

“I think we’re rather past that, don’t you?”

Apparently he did not mind being rude. Fine, then. She would not mind, either. “Was there something you wanted, Lord Ralston?” she said, coolly.

She turned to face him. A mistake. He was just as perfectly put together as he always was—all smooth hair and golden skin and impeccable cravat and eyebrow arched with just enough grace to make her feel like she’d been born and raised in a stable. She was immediately and acutely aware that she was wearing her grayest, drabbest, and now, no doubt, dirtiest gown, and that she likely appeared in dire need of both a nap and a bath.

He was an infuriating man. Truly.

“I should like to continue our conversation from last night.”

She did not respond, instead stooping to pick up several books from the floor.

He watched her, unmoving, as though considering his next words carefully. She waited, slowly placing the books on their shelf, willing him not to say anything. Hoping he’d simply give up and leave.

He stepped closer to her, crowding her into the dimly lit space. “Callie, I cannot apologize enough.” His words were quiet in their sincerity.

She closed her eyes at the words, letting her fingers trail down the spine of one of the books. She saw the letters on the cover, in shining gold plate, but she could not read them. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself against the emotion pounding through her. She shook her head firmly, refusing to look at him—not trusting herself to look at him. “Please don’t apologize,” she whispered. “There is no need.”

“Of course there is a need. My behavior was reprehensible.” He sliced a hand through the air. “More important, however, is that I rectify the situation immediately.”

His meaning was clear. Callie shook her head again. “No,” she said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” His surprise was obvious.

She cleared her throat, willing her voice to be stronger, this time. “No. There is no situation and, hence, no requirement for you to rectify it.”

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “You cannot be serious.”

She squared her shoulders and pushed past him into the light, open central area of the library. Wiping her hands on her dress, she made a show of sorting through a pile of books on a nearby table. She saw none of the titles; registered none of the authors. “I am quite serious, my lord. Whatever perceived infraction you seem to believe you committed, I assure you, you have done no such thing.”

He raked a hand through his hair, irritation flashing across his face. “Callie. I compromised you. Rather thoroughly. And now, I should like to make it right. We are marrying.”

She swallowed, refusing to look at him—not trusting herself to do so. “No, my lord. We are not.” They were, quite possibly, the most difficult words she had ever said. “Not that I do not appreciate the offer,” she added politely.

He looked thoroughly nonplussed. “Why not?”

“My lord?”

“Why won’t you marry me?”

“Well, for one thing, you haven’t asked. You announced.”

He looked to the ceiling as though asking for patience. “Fine. Will you marry me?”

The words sent a sad thrill through Callie. Forced into it or no, the Marquess of Ralston proposing to her was definitely high on her list of most wonderful moments in her lifetime. Tops on the list.

“No. But, thank you very much for asking.”

“Of all the damn fool—” he checked himself. “Do you want me on one knee, then?”

“No!” Callie didn’t think she would be able to bear him on bended knee, asking her to marry him. That would be a cruel trick of the universe.