Free Edith Layton by The Cad

could see water glittering ahead. A lake and a secluded spot near it—trust him to know where to find a secret rendezvous in the heart of London , she thought nervously.
    It was quiet enough to talk now.
    “Have you thought about what I offered?” he asked idly as the horses slowed.
    She nodded. “Of course. I wish I could stop thinking about it. You’re right, you know,” she said, and had the pleasure of seeing him blink and swing his head to her. But she’d decided to be completely honest with him. It would be embarrassing, but lying would be foolish and futile.
    “It would be an easy way to earn a living,” she admitted, telling him everything she’d told herself all day, “and probably would be a pleasure, too—if I were a different kind of person. But I’m not, so I can’t. I just couldn’t be any man’s mistress. I’m sorry—believe me. But there it is.
    “You see, if I did—apart from the fact that I could never live in polite society again, or ever hold down any kind of respectable position again, or ever have my family talk to me again, or be able to look myself in the eye in the mirror each morning—there’s the problem of perhaps findingmyself less alone after you left me. And you would, of course, in time. I mean,” she said, because he looked blank, “I might have something to remember you by.” She swallowed hard. “A child.”
    She looked away from his fascinated stare. “So, you see, it would be impossible for me to consider your offer. Although,” she admitted quickly, because he didn’t answer and she wanted to be fair about it, “I also have to say that—and it may be wrong to say this—I really do regret it, for many reasons. I do believe you don’t find me disfigured, and I do, of course, like to be appreciated, since no one else seems to do that. And my life is not a happy one. Plus you are attractive, as you are far too aware. I know all that, you see. But I know myself, too. I can’t, and there it is.”
    She folded her hands in her lap and looked at them, because she was afraid to see his reaction.
    He was too preoccupied with the horses to have a reaction yet. He stayed silent for a moment more, but only because he was angling his horses in under the canopy of a huge, spreading oak tree. When he’d stopped them, he braked the coach. He put down the reins, and then he spoke to her.
    “You’ve been thinking it over, all right,” he said. “Well, I have to say I’m sorry—and surprised.” The dappled shade couldn’t hide his small smile.
    “Surprised?”
    “Most women don’t expect their husbands to leave them. Most like the idea of having children.”
    She caught her breath. C ruel , she thought, because she’d dreamed of children. “Most women don’t like the idea of having to raise bastard children,” she said bravely, and went on quickly, “I suppose you’ll tell me Icould go someplace where no one has ever heard of me and say I was a widow, and you’d give me enough money to get by, but I don’t want to live a lie. Oh, what am I talking about? The answer is no, and no, and no again, no.”
    “You have been thinking about it,” he said with pleasure. He turned to her casually, one hand resting on his knee. But there was nothing casual in his expression. His face held such tenderness that she caught her breath. “Bridget, sweet Bridget,” he said in his soft purr, “didn’t you hear me? I’m talking about marriage, my dear, and you can’t have been thinking about that .”
    “You can’t have been talking about marriage!” she said with a squeak. “I’ve nothing, no money; I’m old; and I have—”
    “The scar. I know. God, I know about the damned scar,” he said angrily. He put his arms around her and dragged her close. He tipped up her chin with one hand. “Blasted bonnet,” he murmured as she stared up at him, amazed. But it didn’t get in his way.
    She took a long look into those hazel eyes, seeing green and gold and heat