A war was taking place there. A war within.
“Well, this is an interesting situation,” she replied, desperate to ease the thick tension. “Positively Shakespearean.”
“Yes,” he agreed, resting his weight on his forearms.
“Indeed, I promise I did not orchestrate it,” she said, then frowned. “Why are you here?”
“I came here to apologize.”
“Apologize?” she echoed.
“Yes,” he affirmed, his voice a low hum.
She laughed, then groaned, for his weight was considerable. And tempting, for it seemed to promise something she didn’t quite understand. “You?”
“I was an arse,” he stated.
“I think you should right yourself, my lord,” she pointed out, amazed he was still atop her and amazed he had said something so blunt given his usual ducal arrogance. “Lest someone comes in and assumes the worst, and then you would be in a pretty predicament indeed.”
He almost vaulted off her.
She tsked. “Oh dear, I did not realize the idea of being married to me would cause you to have the vapors.”
“I’m not about to faint,” he replied, a dark brow arched as he extended a hand to her.
She sat up, her stays pressing into her waist. “But you do look as if the idea might cause you to collapse at any moment.”
“It has nothing to do with you, Jack. Not truly. Except I would never see you chance your happiness with me.”
“Glad to hear it isn’tme.” She sighed, though in truth his answer only piqued her curiosity. Why was he so convinced he’d make her unhappy? “But that aids me little when I shall have to struggle greatly to find someone willing to take me on.”
He scowled. “That is not—”
“True?” she countered drily. She blew out a breath. “After last night, it has been made very clear to me, the position that I am in. And if I don’t make fun of it, I might as well go up to my room and sob the long hours away.”
“Jack,” he whispered.
“Yes?” she queried.
He offered his hand again. “You make too many jests.”
“Why should I not?” she replied, grabbing his hand. She hauled herself up, determined not to let that touch, his glorious touch, tempt her with what could not be.
She let go of his hand as soon as she was upright and clasped her palms together, as if somehow she could forget the feel of him. “If one does not laugh, well, one might as well cry.”
He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his temple.
“Or get the smelling salts for you, it would seem,” she drawled.
“I do not need smelling salts,” he retorted, dropping his hand to his side.
“Glad to hear it. Your Grace,” she began firmly, “I appreciate you are concerned that my feelings were hurt. They were not. I enjoyed the passion that we experienced together. It was most edifying, but that is all. I know that you have no desire to marry me. And I have no desire to marry you because…you have no desire to marry me. And who really wishes for someone who doesn’t want them?”
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she found she was rather relieved to have uttered them. Because they were true.
He stared at her agog.
She waggled her brows at him. “We must find someone posthaste who doesn’t suspect my wild turn of phrase.”