Page 73

“I can, but others won’t.”

She stared at him. Silently forcing him to acknowledge the contradictions in his words. He stared back.

They stood like that for one long moment before Jo finally broke their connection. She looked away, her gaze falling to the wooden box of things Mick had broken earlier with his fall. She walked toward it silently and picked up a crown she’d used for a game back in the Vane estate.

Their first meeting.

“It’s like the game we played with the king and a peasant,” she finally said as she walked back to him. “You are trying so hard to catch me and still hold on to your crown… But you’ll have to choose. And I think we both know that you’re not about to lose that crown.” She handed the crown to him and he took it, his eyes glassy.

He rotated the crown in his hands. “So you’d rather be with him.” He tipped his head toward the broken box. “Under the thumbs of men like him, then with me?”

“It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.”

Richard nodded. “If your… work—this life—is more important to you than I, then perhaps you’re mistaken in your affections.” His voice was hoarse.

She paused, watching him as he stood, his spine straight, his hair swept back. A perfect viscount.

“Then we are both fools.”

Chapter 18

Richard rotated the little crown in his hands as his carriage stopped at the tiny little cottage in Kent.

He had tortured himself for over two months after the house party ended to no avail. First, he had tried to be a dutiful viscount and an honorable man as he locked himself in his townhouse feeling miserable about his upcoming wedding. Then he had wanted to elope with Jo and damn the consequences. Now he finally realized the simple truth.

He was not going to marry Miss Beatrice Fowley no matter what.

Richard loved Jo. That fact was now undeniably lodged in his heart. He had spent the past few weeks a shadow of the man he had become, and there was no denying that the gaping hole in his heart was due to Jo’s absence.

But before he could start making things right with the woman he loved, he needed to stop running from his problems. He couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable subjects anymore.

The truth was, he’d made quite a mess by getting betrothed. And fixing that mess was his priority at the moment. It didn’t matter what happened between him and Jo after that. That wasn’t even the point.

The point was that currently, with all the mistakes he’d made, he didn’t deserve either of the women in question.

Of course, his plan could fail rather quickly. His betrothed could easily refuse to aid him in his cause. And in that case, he’d have to live with the consequences and he’d have to hope that Jo would find a better man, more worthy than himself.

It would be easier to just elope, sling Jo over his shoulder, and drag her to Gretna Green. But that would not be doing her justice. That would not be doing their love justice. Neither would it be the right thing to do to his betrothed and her family.

No. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

He was welcomed into the small, worn-out little room by one of Miss Fowley’s sisters. She called this room a drawing room, although it was narrow, rather like a pantry, with only three chairs sitting by the hearth and empty otherwise.

Richard’s heart gripped, and he started having second thoughts.

Their little cottage was in need of major repairs. The floorboards creaked, the windows were drafty, and there was mold in the walls. Their furniture needed freshening up or perhaps even to be thrown out.

Their straits must have been truly dire. Richard almost turned away and forgot his entire resolve for why he came here. What was he doing? He was dooming this family to ruin.

But he couldn’t just leave. For the first time since he’d met Jo, he was going to be completely honest. With himself and with the people around him.

Miss Fowley didn’t deserve the suspense. Neither did she deserve an arse like Richard for a husband. Nor did Jo.

Whatever happened next, he needed to stop cowering behind the gates of his townhouse and face his problems head-on.

Step one was to talk to Miss Fowley.

A few moments later, his fiancée entered the room. She wore an old, dark brown gown with a dirty apron at the front. She curtsied, then glanced at her apron and swiftly took it off, hanging it on the back of the chair. Then she stood before him, her hands clasped together, her modest gown swishing around her ankles, her spectacles propped on her nose.