“Belinda can’t marry Laxton! She would be miserable. Blanche would be miserable. This is such a hideous tangle. We should have been with the girls last night instead of . . . I don’t know what came over me.”

“Please don’t, Viola. There were two of us there. I never should have taken you to Rafe’s house with me.”

“I seduced you, remember?”

“You seduced me the very moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve been resisting my desire ever since. Last night I lost all control. This entire debacle is on my shoulders.”

“I’m not going to be ashamed of what we did last night. It wasn’t wicked, it was wondrous.”

“I’m not ashamed. It’s only this business with Laxton and Belinda. I might have to force him to marry her.” He flicked the reins. “Viola. You and I must marry.”

Her heart stopped beating for a brief, stunned second. “West, this isn’t the time to make hasty decisions.”

“It’s what has to happen. I just hope that you don’t . . . that you don’t mind marrying a scoundrel like me. Or perhaps you won’t have to. I may fight a duel and die by Laxton’s bullet.”

She stared at the passing scenery as they left London behind, the trees and houses only a blur now, glimpsed through tears. How had the glowing tenderness of last night become this dreadful mess?

“I should think I have something to say about whether I marry you or not, Your Grace,” she said finally, when she trusted her voice not to wobble.

“I’ll be a good husband to you, Viola. I swear it. If I live to see tomorrow.”

He swore he’d be a good husband, but he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. And he was only proposing out of a sense of obligation. Because his sister had been abducted and he was drawing some twisted parallel between the two circumstances.

“We both know that I’m not the right choice for your duchess. If your sisters are ruined, they’ll require someone polished and unassailable to champion them in society.”

“If my sisters are ruined, Lady Winifred may not wish to marry me. Anyway,” he said with an impatient twitch of the reins, “that’s all beside the point now. We’re marrying by special license and that’s final. For better or for worse.”

Viola’s chest tightened. She knew he was worried about Belinda, knew that fear was making his tone curt and words harsh, but that knowledge didn’t make this hurt any less.

“I refuse your proposal, Your Grace,” she said primly, in her schoolmarm voice.

“You can’t refuse.”

“I most certainly can! I won’t accept the perfunctory and unromantic proposal of a man who is only seeking my hand in marriage out of a sense of obligation.”