Richard put down his glass. “I thought something like that must have happened.”
Raven shot him a wary glance. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not. This has been on the horizon for years. The only surprise is that you held out for as long as you did. Everyone knows the way you look at each other. The temperature goes up a hundred degrees whenever you’re both in the same room. It was only a matter of time before one of you snapped. And besides, knowing Heloise, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been entirely one-sided.”
Raven’s heart was racing. “Does your father know?”
“He probably suspects.”
“Will he expect me to offer for her?” He held his breath, like a man hanging from a ledge by his fingertips.
“No.”
Raven exhaled. The sinking feeling in his stomach was not disappointment. Of course it wasn’t. He didn’t want to get married. It was the brandy. Guilty conscience. Relief at being let off the proverbial hook. All of the above. He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s good.”
“He does want her to marry, of course. He’s wanted that for years.”
“Of course.”
“She could still accept Wilton.”
Brandy splashed onto his wrist. He set the tumbler down and wiped his hand on the covers. “Really?”
She couldn’t marry Wilton. Wilton was dull and worthy, comfortable and kind. Everything he was not. Wilton would crush her soul with respectability. Wilton wouldn’t take her adventuring. Wilton wouldn’t help her cross out a single item on her list. He’d frown and disapprove. Except for the one about the stupid feminine skills like knitting and crocheting. That one he’d like, the sanctimonious sod. Raven clamped his lips together. Heloise Hampden was Not. His. Problem.
Wilton wouldn’t cherish her. He’d belittle her achievements.
He’d never make her come.
The idea of another man eventouchingher was enough to have him take another swig of brandy. He savored the burn in his throat and tamped down the urge to cut off Wilton’s hands.
“Father wouldn’t agree to it, anyway,” Richard said, pouring them both a second drink.
“Why not? He’s been telling her to marry someone exactly like Wilton for years. The boring old fart’s an earl, isn’t he?”
“It’s not about titles or money. Father would let Heloise marry the tinker if she loved him. But only if the tinker loved her back.”
“Ah,” Raven managed.
“She doesn’t want Wilton, and he couldn’t handle her, in any case. She’d walk all over him. God knows, the girl would try the patience of a saint.”
Raven raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Amen to that.”
Richard met his eyes, his gaze direct and shrewd. “You’re no saint. But it’s you she wants.”
For half a heartbeat Raven stilled. And then he forced his glass to his lips and took a deep swallow. “I’m not the man for her.”
Richard shrugged. “I think you’reexactlythe man for her. Who else should she have? A drunken wastrel like Collingham? A fortune-hunting fop who cares more about the fit of his coat than about her?”
“I’m not offering for her. I’m doing her a favor. She can do much better than me.”
“That’s true. Besides, if you offered for her, she’d probably just think you were asking out of a misplaced sense of duty.”
“I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
Richard’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “That’s exactly what Heloise said the other day, so you’re undoubtedly safe. As far as I’m aware, no one’s ever persuaded her to do anything she doesn’t want to.”
Raven narrowed his eyes. “Forget it, Richard. Now go away.”