“I never had a mother. I never had a father, either. I never had any relations—not even a godfather.” His chest constricted with long-suppressed bitterness and regret. And shame. So much shame he thought he would choke on it. “I grew up in a parish orphanage. A miserable place, far from here. A place I’ve spent all of my life trying to forget.”

She stared at him, her bosom rising and falling on an uneven breath. The silence stretched taut between them.

And he knew he’d said too much. That he’d confided too much. That he’d probably ruined everything.

“Haven’t you anything to say?” he asked at last. “Anything at all?”

Laura opened her mouth to reply. The words that tumbled out appeared to shock her as much as they did him. “I have a family,” she said. “You should marry me.”

Chapter 10

Alex couldn’t have looked any more stunned if Laura had slapped him just as she’d once slapped George Wright. Indeed, he looked more surprised than George had. Surprised, and strangely, uncharacteristically, vulnerable.

“What?” The single word was so soft she barely heard it.

“I have a brother and an aunt. And I have myself.” She felt flushed and breathless. Unable to stop the words from coming. “We’re not a large family. Quite small, really. But we all belong to each other, whatever comes. Wherever we are is our home. That’s what you’re searching for, not land. Not riches.”

His throat convulsed on a swallow. “Laura…”

“If you married me, you would have a family, too. But not wealth and property. Not a grand estate like you’d have if you married Henrietta.”

A fleeting expression of longing shone in his eyes. Bitter longing. He wanted her. She knew it. Why else had he kissed her? Why else did he continue to seek her out? And yet when given the chance to have her—to have her honestly, legally, before the eyes of God and man—he was reluctant. No, not reluctant. Unwilling.

“I can’t marry you,” he said.

Something inside of her—some small, bright bloom of hope—withered and died. Gone, as if it had never been there at all. In its place, she expected to feel embarrassment. To be ashamed that she’d ever given voice to such a foolish notion. But it wasn’t her pride that hurt at his refusal.

At least, not only her pride.

She affected a look of unconcern. “Of course you can’t. I have no fortune.”