A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

off a bothersome bug “—is nothing. I have no desire to be married. Surely, being a widower, you understand.”

      Miles blinked, gathering his wits, trying to rein in his reeling thoughts. It was a smidge hard with Bitt staring up at him so wide-eyed and upset. She’d always had enormous and expressive eyes. Such a pale blue they were almost crystalline.

      Unfortunately, he doubted any suitors ever saw Elizabeth’s eyes as, more often than not, she kept her face trapped in novels.

      “What I don’t understand,” he said slowly, “is your flippancy. You are not worried?”

      “Certainly I’m a tad concerned. This gossip will bring out desperate fortune hunters.” She planted her hand on a shapely hip. “It is paramount I find a way to fix this. I will find a way. I must.” A trace of panic edged her words. “No man shall want me for myself, Miles, and you know that is the truth.”

      “I did not think you so vain.” Miles spoke slowly, knowing his words would incite her. Better to face her irritation than to hear that panicked note in her voice. “Assuming no man will want you based on your appearance is presumptuous.”

      She whipped a hand acrobatically through the air. “Presumptuous? Vain? How dare you criticize me when the woman you married was always called a diamond of the first water. I may have been in the schoolroom, but Anastasia’s attributes were often remarked upon in my family. One could hardly travel through London without hearing of her beauty.”

      Miles’s jaw clenched. “Anastasia’s looks had nothing to do with our marriage.”

      “Nothing?” Her hand fell and she gave him a glare that turned his stomach queasy. It was as though she saw through to his inner depths and found him wanting. Her accusation was a slap to his conscience.

      “I fell in love with Anastasia because of her laugh,” he said tightly. It was true. She’d giggled infectiously during their courtship and loved to tease. If only he’d known that her heights of happiness were often followed by depths of sadness he had no power to rouse her from.

      Bitt’s head bent, as though she regretted her harsh words. “I recall her laugh and it was quite lovely. I apologize for my impetuous words. Of course you loved her for more than her beauty. It was unkind of me to suggest otherwise. Perhaps my own insecurities have blinded me to what a man desires in a wife.”

      “Any man would be fortunate to have you as his bride.” Miles tapped his fingers against his thigh. “This situation you find yourself in... John and I are concerned.”

      “He is overprotective. He need not worry though, because I have no intention of marrying anyone, and if my parents try to force me into it, I shall simply run away.”

      Miles did his best not to scoff. “That would hardly solve anything. Besides, how would you support yourself?”

      “I have been saving money for several years. If the need arises, I shall use that to find a post somewhere. A companion position, I suppose.” Perhaps she saw the doubt on his face, for her brows furrowed.

      “No legitimate family will hire a ruined woman.”

      “I am not ruined yet. Gossip has a way of trickling off. I simply must wait for a juicier tittle-tattle to occur.”

      Miles could not stop incredulity from barreling through him. Perhaps the reaction showed, for Bitt scowled deeply.

      He returned her look with a glower of his own. “You hate attending society events, you shun the outdoors and you deny an audience to anyone who is not family because of a mere birthmark. I do not believe for one second that you will become a companion or a governess. Marriage is a position every lady of gentle breeding has been groomed for since birth. Will you really subject your family to great reputational harm rather than marry?”

      A dark flush suffused her cheeks, creeping around the large birthmark that covered the right side of her face and coloring the rest of her fair skin an angry scarlet.

      She gave him an arch look, completely belying every notion he’d ever entertained about her timidity. “Unless it be for love, I shall never marry. No matter the consequences.”

      * * *

      “Even at the expense of your family?” Miles asked.

      Elizabeth winced. Tearing her gaze from the books, she looked at him. She’d spent all morning in this library, hoping and praying the gossip would die down. And then he appeared, reminding her of the entire predicament.

      It was unfair how handsome he looked when she found him so bothersome. His crisp waist jacket lay becomingly over dark breeches that were paired with shiny Hessians. She didn’t know why, but suddenly the lack of his dreadful mustache struck her anew. A little shiver coursed through her at his appearance.

      From his full lips to the dimple in his cheek, formerly hidden by the mustache... She shook away the awareness that rippled through her at his changed looks. This was Miles. Childhood nemesis and annoying man who most unfortunately turned out to be her hero last night.

      “I don’t know,” she whispered.

      He returned her look, unblinking. She patted her hair, certain it must be in place. Jenna had been dressing it for years. Why else did he stare at her so? Was he terribly disappointed in her?

      “Since you are here, I feel I must thank you for rescuing me,” she said to fill the silence.

      “By all means, do not force your thanks.”

      Did she hear mockery in those words? “It is not forced at all. I am sincerely thankful you arrived when you did. Wrottesley was out of line, and I believe he also partook of too much punch. You will see—the gossip will die down, and my family will be fine.”

      She prayed it to be so, for she did not truly wish for their reputations to be harmed because of her. If the rumors affected only herself, she would have been happy to live at Windermar for the rest of her days.

      But this could affect her family for years to come.

      Marriage.

      Bah! She likened the institution to a velvet cage. An image from the tribal book she’d read filled her mind. The young women carried baskets on their heads. Of all things! Every culture had its societal expectations and dictates, she supposed.

      A footman appeared in the doorway. “My lady, Lord Wrottesley is here to call on you.”

      She suddenly felt faint. She had no desire to see the man. Words refused to form. Miles’s gaze was on her. She blinked.

      “I had hoped to take the lady for a ride in Hyde Park,” he said, never removing his eyes from her.

      She nodded faintly, catching her breath. “Yes, that would be lovely. Please tell him I am indisposed, or out.” She waved a hand dismissively. Thank goodness Mother had gone out shopping or else she would not have allowed Elizabeth to go with Miles.

      The footman disappeared.

      Miles held out his arm. “A ride, then?”

      Suddenly the thought of fresh air and sunshine seemed smart, indeed. She took his arm, noticing how much taller he stood than she. His arm felt exceedingly strong.

      Which was neither here nor there, she told herself firmly.

      It did not take long to leave.

      Miles helped her into his rig. His fingers lingered on her knuckles, and she sent him a sharp look. Did he realize the small impropriety? Still feeling warm, she withdrew her hand and found her seat. Once they were settled, and Jenna had handed in her bonnet and taken her own seat, they were off.

      “Hyde Park is beautiful this time of year,” Elizabeth said inanely.

      “We’ve never taken a turn by ourselves, have we?” Sunlight lit the chiseled planes of his profile.

      She glanced at her lap, fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet.

      “You