Page 47 of Brazen Rogue

"Excuse me, my lord, but I must get this right. You're telling me you will not marry me because I have no dowry. That my lack of inheritance makes me invalid to be your wife even though, as you say, you're not in any way short of funds?"

This could not be happening. The man she had pinned all her hopes, who she had thrown off other men for to be with him, was now letting her down. Telling her, in effect, that she was not good enough for him.

Not rich enough.

Poor little Miss Smith from Grafton, who reached too high within the vicious world of the ton, or so he thought.

He nodded and had the grace to look shameful. Paris swallowed the lump in her throat, sure if she did not, it would choke her.

"I apologize, Miss Smith, if I allowed you to think there was more between us than there ever was. While I did find you attractive, of course, you're a beautiful woman. You're amusing and kind, and we get along very well, but that is not enough for a man such as myself. I have responsibilities that must come first, even before my own wants and desires. I, therefore, cannot marry just because my heart tells me to. I must think with my head and what is best for my pocketbook."

Paris stood and paced before the unlit hearth, needing to do something before she would scream and the unfairness of what he was telling her. And while she had asked, she did not think he needed to be so honest and forthright in his reply.

"You have explained perfectly well why I'm not suitable, and I wish you well in finding your perfect match to your pocketbook, my lord," she said, not trying to hide the sarcasm in her tone.

"Miss Smith, please, do not be upset."

She raised her hand, stilling his words. "Upset? I think I have every right to be upset. You allowed me to believe that we were meant for each other for weeks. You made me care about you. I'm sorry that now if your actions have resulted in me beingupset. Maybe you ought to have thought of that before acting so sinful toward a woman you never intended to marry but merely drag along like some pathetic plaything that was an amusing trinket for the season."

He stood, coming over to her. He tried to take her hands, and she yanked them away, stepping back. "Do not touch me, Lord Astoridge. You do not have the right."

He watched her, and she could see he was debating whether to listen to her command or attempt again to soothe her hurt feelings.

She ground her teeth, hoping for his own welfare that he did not try the latter.

"I never saw you as a plaything, Miss Smith. I'm sorry you feel that way," he answered, promptly halting any further explanation. "I think it is best that I leave. I wish you all the very best with the remainder of your season. Good afternoon," he said, bowing and striding from the room.

Paris watched him go, and with his leaving, all her hopes and dreams fled with him.