Matilda turned, and more than her expression, her physical attitude made Tremont’s heart sink. Her features were nearly blank, so great was her self-possession—marriage to damned old Harry had probably imbued her with that skill—while her posture was more resolute than a newly promoted lieutenant at his first parade inspection.

“Why are you doing this, Matilda?” She had not lied to him, but neither had she trusted him.

“I told you: We have no honorable way forward, except to wait for Harry’s actual death, and waiting is the one thing you must not do. Ergo, I am quitting the field. When I took up with Joseph, I was thinking of myself. When I took up with Harry, I was still mostly thinking of myself. I must think of Tommie now, and that means removing myself from the ambit of your affections. If you love me, you will marry another lady, a sweet woman who esteems you sincerely, which, God knows, is easy enough to do. You will have a half-dozen sons and live to a ripe and contented old age.”

Matilda passed that sentence on him with a dispassion that would have flattered a judge, save that two spots of pink had bloomed in her cheeks, and she was staring fixedly at the untouched tea tray on the low table.

Why do this? Why make this great, stupid sacrifice? Everything Matilda said was true. Cousin Wesley was a self-absorbed spendthrift who’d stop at little to indulge his many appetites. He’d run Tremont into the ground, of that there was no question.

But the tenants would all have time to find other properties if Wesley inherited, and Marcus had equipped them with letters commending their stewardship and diligence. Mama and the pensioners were taken care of, and the property was in as good repair as Marcus could make it.

This was not about an estate, or even about Marcus’s honor, or even the impact on Tommie of having a mother in an irregular association with an earl.

“Have your feelings for me changed, Matilda?”

Her chin came up, and she glowered at him. “No. Were I free to marry you, I’d do so on the instant.”

He’d seen that same battle light in her eyes before, in St. Mildred’s hall… when she’d thought he’d been about to take Tommie to task.

Well, of course. The issue was not Tommie’s social standing, but rather, his safety. “I can keep Tommie from harm,” Tremont said. “We’ll have him educated in Finland, and Harry will never find him.”

“Finland?”

“Britain is all but out of lumber. The Finns have seas of magnificent pine to sell and land they want cleared. I’m importing that lumber and making a tidy sum doing it. Lovely people, and a beautiful country, what little I’ve seen of it.”