He was still far too good for her. That was tragically apparent. Had been apparent from the first if she’d used her eyes and not let her own ambition and Burnley’s prejudice against his only remaining child blind her.
“Hard to forget him when I carry his baby,” she said with a bite.
She waited for Burnley to protest, at her rudeness if at nothing else. He remained silent.
When he did speak, he surprised her. Although she should have guessed where this conversation headed. Her slowness in realizing what he was up to was just another symptom of her abiding misery. She wasn’t usually so dozy when it came to Burnley’s manipulations.
“I want you to think of the child as mine. I already do.”
Dismay held her motionless. He couldn’t mean to renew his suit. She’d refused him. Categorically.
“Lord Burnley…” she stammered when she summoned breath to speak.
The hand on the stick clenched until the knuckles rose hard and round against the skin. “Listen to what I have to say, Diana.”
“I can’t marry you,” she said flatly.
She turned to face him. His eyes burned in his worn face. Green eyes. Like his son’s. The blazing glare made it impossible to look away.
“Consider the facts. You’ve achieved exactly what you set out to do. You seduced the scoundrel, you bring Cranston Abbey an heir of the direct line. All this because you love the house.”
Once she had, but she’d changed. Now she’d gladly consign every stone in the Abbey to Hades in return for one glimpse of the man she loved. “I…”
He gestured with his free hand to silence her. “You’re the perfect guardian of this heritage. A heritage your child can hold, completely, legally, without question. Your blood will walk these halls, your blood will own this land, your blood will join the glorious line of Fanshawes. Doesn’t that make your heart leap? I thought you the only woman in the
world who could focus on the end rather than fretting over the means. What’s happened to your ambition?”
“Lies and deception smothered it,” she said, still in that flinty voice.
Burnley made a contemptuous sound. “Sheer rot, woman. You’re not thinking clearly. You haven’t thought clearly since you met that damned degenerate.”
She lurched to her feet. This was torture. Although she should have been prepared. Burnley never gave up on what he wanted, and he wanted an heir for the Abbey. Which meant he wanted her for his wife.
“Stop it,” she said sharply. “I won’t listen. You’re like the devil, twisting facts until I can’t tell right from wrong.”
Anger glinted in his eyes. “You dare to speak to me with such insolence?”
“I dare.”
Surprisingly, his thin lips stretched in a smile. His eyes sparked with admiration. “What a marchioness you’ll make. That’s the spirit I’ve always seen in you. Not this moping coward.”
His compliments gave her no pleasure. “I won’t be your marchioness.”
She waited for an explosion, but he sent her a serious look. “You’re still not thinking straight, Diana.”
“Aren’t I?” she asked with a hint of challenge.
What right did he have to prod and pick? She wanted to be left alone to seek perdition her own way. Floating without complaint toward oblivion. She didn’t like the way Lord Burnley awoke her temper. It meant she felt. And feeling hurt like an amputation without opium.
“It’s absurd. You’ve endured the worst.” He straightened, and briefly he was the man who had ruled the estate like a despotic king. “Now you won’t accept the reward you’ve worked so hard to attain. Ashcroft won’t give a fig what you do. Believe me, you humiliated him. He won’t come for you. Even if he did, even if he was weakling enough to forgive you, he’d offer you nothing better than a role as his temporary mistress. When he’s had his fill, degraded you completely, he’ll pass you on to some other rogue. It’s not a fate you’ll relish, my dear. The heat of Ashcroft’s passion is fleeting as a candle’s. It won’t warm you for long.”
“I know there’s no future with Ashcroft,” she said dully, wishing she could argue. Burnley only reiterated what she’d told herself in the lonely watches of so many tear-drenched nights.
“If you reject me, what future do you have, apart from disgrace and ruin? You’re going to bear a child. Don’t you think that child would rather be brought up as the Marquess of Burnley than as a pauper drab’s bastard?”
His questions smarted. Because much as she hated him, she had to acknowledge he was right. She had more than herself to consider. There was a baby.
Burnley must have scented his advantage because he went on more emphatically. “And what about your father and Miss Smith? Do you think they’ll appreciate losing the roof over their heads because of your fine sense of ethical imperatives?”