“At my cousin’s home.”
Will moved to stand right next to her and the carriage.
“I will ride with you.”
“That’s really not proper. Green is taking me straight home.” She indicated the driver in the front.
“Get in,” he commanded softly.
She looked as if she was going to balk, but he hoped the expression in his eyes brooked no argument. She nodded andallowed him to helpher into the carriage. She had expected him to take the seat across from her, but he sat right next to her, his entire leg pressed against hers.
She moved slightly away as she gave Green the order to walk on, and for a minute or so, Will didn’t say anything. He just sat next to her in the close confines of the carriage, extremely aware of her presence and the scent of her. Then he spoke.
“Lady Denbigh is a friend of mine.”
Rose made to protest his entreaty, but he reached out one hand and placed a finger against her lips to quieten her. She just stared at him. He dropped his hand.
“We became friends after your marriage to the Duke. I needed someone to listen to my raging.”
He smiled at her, but she looked away.
“She had lost her husband as I had lost you, and we made good if miserable, companions. We have been good friends ever since.”
Rose made no indication that she was listening to him, despite the fact that he was only a foot away. He observed her with her head bowed and hands primly posed on her knees. What had life done to her? To his Rose? This woman, who had once been fearless, was sitting next to him like a small hurt crow, waiting for its fate. It had been difficult enough to walk away the previous weekend. It didn't matter what she had done to him or how she had hurt him. He was certain that nothing in her life had gone as planned for her, and he was overcome with sympathy and a desire to protecther.
“Rose.”
She did not move or acknowledge he had spoken.
“Rose!”
He pressed his shoulder against hers, and she flinched.
“Marry me!”
CHAPTERNINE
“What?” Rose’s head shot up, looking straight at him.
She had looked exactly the same way she had looked when she told him she was marrying Ambrose Barrington. Sad. Lost. Hopeless. The part of Will that had not acted then was acting now.
“Marry me, not Barrington,” he said as he turned to her on the cramped seat.
She was staring at him, her huge blue eyes as wide as tea saucers. He saw a riot of emotions cycling through her expression; from bewilderment to incredulity, to hope, even to pleasure, but then distinctly changing to sadness, to denial, to refusal.
“But I am already…”
“Break it.” He urged her, not letting her finish. “Make a life with me. To hell with the consequences.”
“I really don’t think…” But Will kept talking over her until she stopped.
“You know the marriage to Ernest Barrington is a mistake.” He put a hand on her leg, but she stared at his fingers, so he removed it. “You will be so miserable. I can’t bear to watch that happen to you. You were always so positive, so happy. You need to be that woman again.”
Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “So, am I to believe you are asking me to marry you out of pity?”
“Barrington is dangerous,” Will insisted. “You have to be kept away from him.”
“So you are asking me to marry you to protect me?”