“Considering the fact that I had you against the wall a mere hour ago, you are quite likely carrying my child,” he replied, knowing that his voice had dropped an octave.
Another woman would have winced or been embarrassed. He could have sworn he saw yearning flash through her eyes. But then it was gone; he must have imagined it.
India’s mouth tightened. “I am not carrying your child.”
“You cannot know that.”
“No. But I can be reasonably certain.”
“There is no certainty in these things. I have sent for a special license, and we will be married on the morrow or, at the latest, the day after.”
She blinked, apparently shocked. Did she think that he would simply saunter away after that?
Finally she put that damned book to the side and came to her feet. “Thorn, I will not marry a man due to a momentary foolishness. You are essentially promised to Lala. You have spoken to her father, whether he declined to answer or no. She is dreaming of your future life together. The fact that I acted like a whore does not compel you to marry me.”
He was frozen for a moment, then he found himself standing before her, hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “Do not ever say something like that about yourself. You are nothing like a whore.”
India stared back at him, her eyes flat. “Well, it’s true that I didn’t charge you for my services. But I don’t think that Lady Rainsford will care about that distinction.”
“Lady Rainsford is a monstrous woman,” he bit out.
“She is your future mother-in-law,” India observed. “Our unfortunate behavior does not and should not compel you to marry me—and neither does it mean that I am compelled to marry you. You appear to have forgotten to propose, but you needn’t bother. My answer is no.”
Thorn felt astonishment roaring down his spine. “Your answer is yes.”
“Do not think for a second that you can force me into marriage!”
India turned blindly away from Thorn’s black expression and walked to the mantel. The truth could not be avoided. He deserved better than she, someone sweet and soft. She swallowed hard.
And she deserved someone who loved her, not someone forced by his sense of honor to marry her. Tears threatened again, but she managed to choke them down.
“India,” Thorn said from behind her, the bite in his voice easing.
She had to cut him off before he persuaded her, because it would only be his conscience talking. She refused to be sacrificed on the altar of any man’s conscience.
Not when it would change the course of her whole life. Not . . . not loving him the way she loved him, especially if he grew to hate her because he lost his “ideal” wife.
He would hate her, if not now, then later, after the pleasure of illicit encounters in hallways had worn off. She would rather die than live that way.
“At any rate,” she said, steeling her voice. “I’ve changed my mind. I am not giving up my profession. I have decided to accept an offer from the Prince of Wales; I shall renovate his private quarters at the Royal Pavilion in Brighton.”
His eyes narrowed. “You will not go anywhere near that fat lecher’s chambers.”
She gripped the mantelpiece, using it to keep herself upright as she turned to face him again. “I shall go where I wish. And I would be daft not to accept the job. Perhaps after that, I shall marry—but never because of a moment’s indiscretion. My parents were neglectful, as you know. But they loved each other. I didn’t realize until recently how important that was, and I shall certainly not marry a man who doesn’t even think he has to propose.”
“I would have proposed.” It looked as if his lips were scarcely moving.
“When? After we were married? You walked into this room and informed me that you had sent for a special license. Acceptance on my part had nothing to do with it. You felt that there was no reason to ask me, because our marriage wouldn’t have been about us. It would be about the possibility of a child.”
He didn’t deny it. She hated that his tacit agreement hurt.
“Please leave,” she said.
Thorn was staring at the carpet, but after a moment, he looked up, his eyes burning with frustration. “You will not defy me in this, India. Our irresponsible actions have left us with no alternative. Regardless of what you say, you cannot deny the possibility that we conceived a child.”
That, more than anything, demonstrated that he didn’t love her. To him, she was no more than a woman who engaged in irresponsible behavior. A sob nearly forced itself from her throat before she choked it back.
There was only one thing that would stop Thorn from marrying her, she knew. She would have to say it. That horrible thing.
“You are doing this because of the possibility of a child. As I have told you, I am quite certain that there is no child. But if there is”—She hesitated, her heart beating so hard that she felt faint.—“I will do as your mother did.”
She saw the blood drain from his face. “Are you saying that you will leave the child to me, just as my mother left me with my father?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded jerkily, uncertain whether her expression betrayed the truth of how utterly an action like that would destroy her. Surely he wouldn’t believe her capable of that.
But no, she could read condemnation in his face. He knew her no better than did Lord Dibbleshire. Like his lordship, Thorn accepted whatever she said.
He would hate her now, she understood that. But it had to be.
“I am sure that you will be an excellent father,” she said, forcing the words out of her mouth. “Rose adores you.”
Thorn’s gaze burned into her. “You love Rose, although you’ve met her only a few times. You would never leave a child, your own child. You are lying.”
“I assure you that I am not.” She almost turned away again, but she straightened her backbone instead. “You do not know me, Thorn, nor do you love me,” she said, letting go of the mantel and standing tall, hating that she had to swim in such selfish, shallow waters to accomplish what had to be done. “I have earned the right to marry someone who loves me. I deserve a man who treasures me.”
“I treasure you!” His voice was sharp.
Like a flash fire in a poorly run kitchen, fury and anger and utter despair raced through her. “You made love to me without protection! You made love to me virtually in front of the woman you plan to marry, and where any servant might have happened by. You do not treasure me!” There was a moment’s silence while she pulled her crumbling self together again. “It is not entirely your fault. I have repeatedly made stupid choices.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Did I really seem experienced to you?” She whispered those words because they were burning in the back of her throat. “Did I truly?”
He swallowed, and she saw his throat ripple. “You were a virgin?”
She didn’t answer.
“There was no blood.”
“I bled for two days after the first time I rode a horse without a saddle. I was twelve.”
“You lied to me?”
She felt her mouth curl into an ironic smile. “I wanted you. And you would not have . . . have taken me if you thought me experienced, would you?”