Page 82 of After the Abduction

She wouldn’t look at him as she tied her garters, then put on her half boots. “Actually, I was thinking that my family and I ought to return to London. The longer we stay away, the more chance there is for the gossip to take hold. Now that we know you didn’t start it, we should find out who did, and nip it in the bud before it becomes nasty.”

The quagmire deepened; he sank to his knees in it. “You won’t stay here?”

“It’s not as if we could stay until Morgan returns, you know. As you said, it might be ‘weeks, even months.’”

No doubt she took great delight in throwing his own words back in his teeth. “I can’t leave here until he returns.”

“Of course not,” she said tersely. “You stay and take care of your brother, and when you’ve got it all settled and you’re ready to speak to my family, come to London.” She added in a small voice, “That is, unless you change your mind about marrying me.”

“I won’t change my mind.” Now his chest was going under, now his neck. He couldn’t breathe for the thought of her actually leaving him. “At least tell your family we’re engaged to be married.”

Rising from the bed, she faced him with shoulders set. “But we’re not. And we won’t be until you tell them the truth.” Then she turned and strode toward the door.

In a panic, he crossed the room to grab her by the arm. “You promised you’d be my wife if I told you the truth, and I did. Your family doesn’t figure into the agreement.”

She lifted her clear-eyed gaze to him. “As I recall, the terms were that if I didn’t like what you had to say, I could do as I pleased.”

“Blast it, Juliet, I ruined you! And I take responsibility for my actions.”

“Except when it conflicts with your notions about your duty to your family.”

“I have a responsibility to my brother, too.”

“As I do to my family.”

Which was absurd. Her family wasn’t in danger. They deserved nothing from him. No matter what she claimed, this wasn’t about responsibility. It was another of her little tricks—meant to force him into doing what she wanted. Well, he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.

“What if I tell Knighton that I’ve taken your innocence? Then he’ll insist that you marry me at once.”

Anger and hurt mingled in her lovely features. “You’d really do that to me? Shame me before him?”

He squelched ruthlessly any twinges of guilt. “Better that you suffer a little shame now than a great deal of shame later if you should find yourself with child. So yes, I’ll tell him if I must.”

That stubborn little chin of hers shot up a notch. “Go ahead. Then I’ll tell him who you really are, and it will all be out in the open, won’t it?”

“You’re going to do that anyway,” he growled.

She flinched. “No, of course not. They deserve to hear it from you. If I tell them, they’ll think I’m trying to cover it up for you. They won’t believe you did it for a good reason, and they’ll want your head. So I’m not saying a word until you tell them, whenever that is.”

He gaped at her. “You expect me to believe that you’ll keep quiet, even though you have every reason not to?”

“I don’t give a farthing what you believe,” she whispered, wrenching free of his hold. Her lovely eyes shimmered with tears. “If you can’t see that I care about you enough to want to protect you, then that is your problem.”

She started for the door, and he stood there frozen. She cared as much as all the others who’d chosen to leave him. They, too, had always had what they thought were perfectly good reasons to go.

His mother’s reason had been love, that dubious emotion. His father’s had been freedom. His uncle’s reason had been the glitter and excitement of London and Bath. Even Morgan had initially possessed a rational reason to ignore all familial ties—his duty to his country.

At least that one was noble. The rest were all as flimsy and self-serving as Juliet’s. And they all bore the same results—Sebastian was left alone with his responsibilities, left alone to take care of everything, eternally alone.

Fine. He always managed to get through it before, and this time was no different. The alternative was to dance to her tune—or beg—and he’d be damned if he did either. Not since he was a child had he begged anyone to stay. Grown men didn’t beg. And he sure as the devil wouldn’t beg her.

She halted in the doorway and glanced back at him, suddenly uncertain. “You’ll be all right here?”

“I’ve done without you for most of my life, Juliet,” he bit out. “I think I can manage a few more weeks.”

She paled. “Yes, of course you can. How stupid of me to think you might miss me.” She turned to walk out the door.

Oh Christ, of course he’d miss her. How could she think otherwise?