Of all the arrogant—pompous—horrid—men!” Callie wrenched books from the shelves of the Allendale House library and tossed them onto the growing piles at her feet as she muttered aloud to herself. “‘Of course, we shall marry’? I wouldn’t—marry him—if he were the last—man—in—London!”
She blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes and wiped her dusty hands on the gray woolen dress she was wearing before surveying the damage she had caused over the last hour. The library had been torn asunder. There were books everywhere—on tables and chairs and in progressively less neat piles on the floor.
After a stony-silent ride home with Ralston mere hours ago, Callie had crept back into the house and found her bed, torn between a longing to crawl under the covers never to reemerge and an equally strong desire to march straight to Ralston House, wake up its master, and tell him precisely what she thought he should do with his generous, gentlemanly offer.
For several hours, she’d attempted the former…playing the events of the evening over and over in her head—alternating between tears and anger at how thoroughly he’d ruined such a remarkable evening. He’d shown her precisely how amazing passion could be, she’d seen her first glimpse of ecstasy, and then he’d gone and destroyed it. And she’d been reminded, mere moments after her discovery, that she was not destined for passion of any kind.
No, instead of Ralston saying any number of wonderful things that could have been appropriate for the precise situation in which they had found themselves—from You are the most unparalleled female I have ever known, to How can I ever live without you now that I’ve found heaven in your arms, to I love you, Callie, more than I had ever dreamed to even Shall we have another go?—he’d gone and mucked it up by apologizing.
And, even worse, mentioning marriage.
Not that marriage would have been the entirely wrong thing for him to mention. Indeed, she would have welcomed it, somewhere between You are the most unparalleled female I have ever known and How can I ever live without you now that I’ve found heaven in your arms. It would have been lovely if he’d looked into her eyes with absolute devotion, and said, Make me the happiest, luckiest, most satisfied man in the world, Callie. Marry me.
Certainly, if he’d said that—or, she allowed magnanimously, any variation on the theme—she would have collapsed, elated, into his arms and allowed him to kiss her senseless all the way home. And she would still be abed, dreaming of a long, happy life as the Marchioness of Ralston.
Instead, it was half past nine, the morning after what should have been the most marvelous evening of her entire life—including all those still left to come—and she was rearranging the library.
Hands on her hips, she gave a curt nod at the scene before her. “It seems as good a time as any.”
Well, at least she hadn’t cried.
She sneezed. First, she would have to dust.
She marched to the door and yanked it open to have footman fetch her a duster, only to discover Mariana and Anne, heads bowed, deep in whispered conversation with a maid across the hallway.
All three heads snapped up at the sound of the library door opening, and Callie noted that the maid’s jaw dropped at the sight of her. Callie spoke evenly to the servant. “I am in need of a duster.” The girl looked entirely dumbfounded, as though she failed to understand the statement. Callie tried again. “To dust. The books. In the library.” The girl appeared to be rooted to the floor of the foyer. Callie sighed. “I should like to dust the library today… do you think that will be possible?”
The question spurred the girl into motion, and she scurried off down the hall to do her mistress’s bidding. Callie leveled Mariana and Anne with a stern look. At least they had the good sense not to comment.
“Oh, my,” Mariana said, “it appears that it is worse than we thought.”
Callie’s gaze narrowed on her sister, speaking volumes, before she spun on one heel and returned to the library to begin the long process of alphabetizing the books that were now thoroughly out of order. From her spot on the floor, Callie noted that Mariana and Anne had followed her into the room. Anne stood resolutely by the closed door as Mariana perched cautiously on the arm of one chair.
They watched Callie carefully, remaining quiet for several minutes as Callie collected titles from nearby piles. Mariana broke the silence finally, asking, “What letter are you on?”
Callie looked up at her sister from amidst the towering books and said, obviously, “A.”
Mari leaned over to consider a pile of books by her feet. Deftly removing one from the stack, she flashed a self-satisfied smile, and said, “Alighieri. Inferno.”
Callie turned back to her piles. “That’s Dante. It should be shelved under D.”
“Really?” Mariana wrinkled her nose at the book in her hand. “That seems odd. His surname begins with an A.”
“Michelangelo’s surname begins with a B and we still file him under M.”
“Hmm,” Mariana said, feigning interest in the conversation. “It must be the Italians.” She paused briefly as the maid knocked and entered with a duster for Callie. When the girl had come and gone, closing the door behind her, Mari continued absently, “I wonder if Juliana would be filed under J or F?”
Callie’s back stiffened briefly at the mention of Ralston’s sister before she resumed her dusting. “I haven’t any idea. Probably J.”
Anne piped up. “’Tis a pity she’s not an official St. John. I’ve always liked S.”
Mariana nodded. “I do so agree.”
Callie snapped her head around to look at Mariana. “What are you two trying to get at?”
“What happened last night?”
Callie looked back at the shelf she was filling. “Nothing happened.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why are you reorganizing the library?” Mariana asked.
Callie gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Why not? I haven’t anything else to do today.”
“Nothing better to do than rearrange the library.”
Callie wondered how difficult it would be to strangle her sister.
“A thing you only ever do when you are in search of distraction?”
And her lady’s maid.
Mariana stood and leaned against the shelf where Callie was working. “You promised you would tell me everything, you know.”
Callie shrugged again. “There’s nothing to tell.”
The words were punctuated by a knock on the door of the room. All three women turned their attention to the butler, who was making a valiant attempt to ignore the mess that had taken over the normally impeccably organized library.
He entered, closing the door firmly behind him, as though attempting to shield them from the hallway. “My lady, Lord Ralston is here. He is requesting an audience with you.”
Mariana and Anne exchanged a wide-eyed look before Mariana turned to give Callie a smug look. “Is he?”
Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and addressed the butler, “Thank you, Davis. You may tell the marquess that I am not in. He may return later in the day should he like to take a chance on my being able to receive him then.”
“Indeed, my lady.” The butler gave a short bow and exited the room.
Callie closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself. When she opened them again, Mariana and Anne were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching her closely. Anne said, “Nothing to tell, hmm?”
“No.” Callie willed her voice to remain steady.
“You’re a wretched liar,” Mariana said casually. “One can only hope that Davis is slightly better than you are.”
As the words hung in the air between them, the door opened once again, revealing the aging butler. “My ladies.” He bowed.
“Has he gone?” Callie asked.
“Erm. No, my lady. He says he will wait for you to return.”
Mariana’s jaw dropped slightly at the words. “Really?”
Davis nodded once in the direction of the youngest Hartwell sister. “Quite, my lady.”
Mari smiled brightly at Callie. “Well, this appears to be shaping into something of an adventure.”
“Oh, do shut up.” Callie turned to Davis. “Davis, you shall have to make it clear that I am not receiving. It is far too early for callers.”
“I made that point already, my lady. Unfortunately, the marquess appears to be rather…persistent.”
Callie gave a little, frustrated huff. “Yes. He does trend in that direction. You shall have to persevere.”
“My lady…” the butler hedged.
Callie lost her patience. “Davis. You are considered to be one of the best butlers in London.”
Davis preened. Well, as much as a butler could do so and retain an appropriate level of gravity. “In England, my lady.”
“Yes. Well. Do you think you could…buttle…this morning?”
Anne snorted her amusement as Davis’s face fell.
Mariana turned kind eyes on the butler, and said, “She doesn’t mean to insult, Davis.”
The butler was stone-faced when he replied with a sniff, “Indeed, not.” He then bowed, more deeply than Callie thought he’d ever bowed to them before and took his leave once more.
Callie sighed, returning to her task, deep within a row of shelves. “I shall be punished for my behavior, shan’t I?”
“Most definitely. You’ll be served overcooked beef for the next month,” Anne said, her amusement barely controlled.
Mari inspected a pile of books there before asking casually, “Do you think Lord Ralston will be deterred?”
“I wouldn’t place a wager on it.”
Callie’s heart leapt into her throat at the dry words, spoken from inside the room. She snapped her head toward the sound, but the surrounding shelving blocked her view. At the end of the passageway where she stood, Callie could see her maid frozen in place, eyes wide as saucers, staring in the direction of the door.
In the silence that ensued, Mariana turned her gaze on Callie. Ignoring her sister’s pleading look, the younger woman offered a smile befitting The Allendale Angel, and said, sweetly, “Callie, it appears that you have a visitor.”
Callie’s gaze narrowed. There was truly nothing worse in the wide world than a sister.
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.
“What the devil is the problem?”
The problem is that you don’t really want me. “I simply see no reason for us to marry.”
“No reason,” he repeated, testing the words for himself. “I would venture to guess that I could name one or two very good reasons.”
She met his eyes finally, unsettled by the conviction in their rich blue depths. “Surely you haven’t attempted to marry every woman you’ve compromised. Why begin with me?”
His eyes widened in shock at her bold words. The emotion was soon replaced by irritation. “Let us resolve this once and for all. You evidently think me far more profligate than I have been. Contrary to what you might believe, I have indeed proposed to every unmarried virgin I’ve deflowered. All one of them.”
Callie flushed at his frank words and looked away, nibbling at her lower lip. He was obviously upset by the situation, and she was sorry for that. But, truthfully, he couldn’t possibly be more upset than she was. She’d spent a glorious evening in the arms of the only man she’d ever wanted, and he’d promptly proposed to her—out of some newfound sense of duty—with all the romance of a side of beef.
And she was supposed to collapse in gratitude for the overwhelmingly generous Marquess of Ralston? No, thank you. She would live out the rest of her days with the wonderful memory of the night before and be happy with that.
She hoped.
“Your honorable actions are duly noted, my lord—”
“For God’s sake, Callie—stop ‘my lording’ me.” Irritation laced his tone, giving her pause. “You realize you could be with child.”
One of Callie’s hands went immediately to her waist at the words. She quelled the intense longing that shot through her at the idea of carrying Ralston’s child. She hadn’t considered the possibility, but how likely could it really be? “I doubt very much that that is the case.”
“Nevertheless, there is a possibility. I won’t have a child of mine born a bastard.”
Callie’s eyes flashed. “Neither would I. But this conversation is rather premature, don’t you think? After all, the risk of such a thing is rather minimal.”
“Any risk is too much of a risk. I want you to marry me. I will give you everything you could ever want.”
You’ll never love me. You never could. I am too plain. Too boring. Nothing like what you deserve. The words whispered through her mind, but she remained silent, instead shaking her head.
He sighed, frustrated. “If you won’t hear reason, I shall have no choice but to have this conversation with Benedick.”
Callie gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“You have evidently mistaken me for a different man. I shall marry you, and I am not above having your brother force you down the aisle to do it.”
“Benedick would never force me to marry you,” Callie protested.
“It appears we will discover the truth of that statement.” They stood, facing off, eyes sparkling with frustration, for several long moments before his tone softened, and he said, “Would it be that bad?”
Raw emotion burst in Callie’s chest, and she could not immediately reply. Of course, marrying Ralston would not be bad. Marrying Ralston would be wonderful. She’d pined for him for years, watched him longingly from the edges of ballrooms, combed the gossip columns for news of him and his escapades. For a decade, when the doyennes of the ton speculated about the future Marchioness of Ralston, Callie had secretly imagined herself holding court alongside her coveted marquess.
But in all those years, she’d imagined a love match. She’d dreamed that one day he would spy her from across a crowded ballroom or from inside a shop on Bond Street, or at a dinner party and fall madly in love with her. She’d imagined them living happily ever after.
Marriages borne of regret and mistakes did not make for appropriately happy ever afters.
At her age and station, she knew that her best chance of ever marrying and having a family was to accept a loveless marriage, but agreeing to such with Ralston was simply too much to bear.
She’d longed for him for too long to accept less than love. Collecting herself, she said, “Of course it would not be bad. I’m sure you would make a fine husband. I am simply not in the market for one.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he scoffed. “Every unmarried female in London is in the market for a husband.” He paused, considering the situation. “Is it me?”
“No.” You’re rather perfect, actually. He was going to push her until she gave him a reason. She gave a little shrug. “I simply don’t believe that we would suit.”
He leveled her with a blank stare. “You don’t think we’d suit.”
“No.” She met his eyes. “I don’t.”
“Why the devil not?”
“Well, I am not exactly your preferred specimen of femininity.”
Ralston paused at her phrasing, looking up to the ceiling as though asking for patience. “Which is?”
Callie gave a frustrated little sigh. Did he have to push her constantly? “You’re really going to make me say it?”
“I really am, Callie. Because, truly, I don’t understand.”
She hated him in that moment. Hated him almost as much as she adored him. She waved her hand in irritation. “Beautiful. Sophisticated. Experienced. I am none of those things. I am the opposite of you and the women with whom you’ve surrounded yourself. I’d much rather read books than go to balls, I loathe society, and I am so lacking in experience in the romance department that I had to come to your house in the dead of night to secure my first kiss. The last thing I want is a marriage with someone who will regret such an arrangement from the moment we speak our vows.” The words came out fast and furious, and she was angry that he’d pressed her into laying bare her insecurities.
She punctuated her diatribe with a muttered, “Thank you very much for forcing me to say it all.”
He blinked at her, silent, taking in her words. And then he said, simply, “I shan’t regret it.”
The words were her undoing. She’d had enough. Enough of his kindness and his passion. Enough of the way he made her mind and her heart and her body feel. Enough of punishing herself with moments alone with him. Enough of the events of the past few weeks somehow convincing her that she might, after all, have a chance with Ralston. “Really? In the same way you didn’t regret your actions in your study? In the same way you don’t regret the events of last evening?” She shook her head, sad. “You’ve been so quick to apologize after each of those moments, Ralston, it’s fairly obvious that a marriage to me is the very last thing you would choose freely.”
“That’s not true.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with emotion. “Of course it’s true. And, frankly, I will not put you through a lifetime of regretting your being tied to someone as…plain and missish…as I.” She ignored his slight flinch at her description—the same words that he had used that afternoon in his study. “I couldn’t bear it. So, thank you very much, but I will not marry you.” I have loved you too long. And too much.
“Callie, I should never have said—”
She held up both hands to halt his speech. “Stop. Please.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and she could sense his frustration at her words. And then he spoke.
“This is not over,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding.
She met his unwavering blue gaze, and said, “Yes. It is.”
He spun on his heel and stormed from the room.
She watched him go, listening for the main door of Allendale House to slam closed before she allowed the tears to come.