Not that it mattered what he thought, because it didn’t change the truth of things. Even if he still wanted her, she couldn’t bring shame to her family by rejecting Beresford. Her reputation was on the cusp of ruin and only marriage to the earl would see her accepted in Society.

When she reached her rooms, she plopped down on the settee. Dickens leapt up and settled in her lap. Combing her fingers through his fur, she gazed at the photographs of her family on the mantel. What if she didn’t want Society? What if she wanted Matthew?

She’d never had a row with anyone before, but people had rows all the time and overcame them. If she explained what had happened at the ball, would he believe her? Could her heart withstand the battering if he didn’t?

He’d wanted to marry her.

In the face of his anger over what he obviously viewed as a betrayal, she’d barely been able to absorb the words he’d thrown at her. Not exactly the way she’d always envisioned a proposal coming, but now his words reverberated through her. He loved her. Oh, he hadn’t used that term, precisely, but he’d admitted she’d won him over. And he’d wanted her to become his wife.

Dickens hissed, and she realized she’d been hugging him tightly as though he were Matthew. She released her hold and he darted away, leaving her arms empty, as empty as her life would be without Matthew. How in the world was she to reconcile what she wanted with what was best for everyone else? At what point did she put her own needs and desires first?

Glancing over at the mantel clock, she saw that she was an hour away from opening her shop. Her world was falling around her, but she couldn’t let her beloved shop go to hell as well.

She prepared her bath, and when she sank into the warm water, all she could think about was Matthew’s gentle touch as he’d washed away her imagined grime. As the tears began to flow in earnest again, she buried her face in her hands. Everything she did, everywhere she looked were reminders of him. He made her laugh, feel special, hunger for passion. He’d defended her against Dibble and was going to see the man sent to prison. He’d shared happy times and sad. He’d been her rock.

With wet hands, she swiped at her tears. How could her chest ache this badly, as though her heart were being physically rent from her?

Would she find any comfort at all with Beresford? Would he make her laugh? Would she come to love him in time?