He didn’t answer.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Giles shook his head. “No. I forced myself to stay away from you.”

“You must have been shocked to find yourself on that settee yesterday,” she concluded, dark fury coursing through her. “How lucky you are that I have changed my mind and set you free. You and your sister will share the experience of sidestepping marriages with people whom you despise.”

She pulled at the door, so Giles moved his hand away.

“I don’t despise you. Please allow me to drive you home.”

“No.” Yasmin swept past him.

“Then I shall summon my carriage to take you home.”

She refused to look at him as a footman scuttled off to find Duckworthy, and another footman ran around to the mews. She met his eyes only when he extended a hand to assist her onto the mounting block and into the carriage. “Goodbye, Lord Lilford.”

Giles was stark white, his cheekbones standing out. “I’ve broken everything.” His voice was raw and ragged. “Please allow me to try to explain one more time, Yasmin. Please.”

“I think it’s best if we forget about this mistake.”

“How can I forget it? We made love!”

Of course, the despair in his eyes made sense. Giles was so proper that he would be agonized by the idea of debauching a lady.

“I choose not to give you my hand in marriage, which is my prerogative. Good afternoon.”

He bowed and closed the carriage door.

Chapter Sixteen

Giles walked back into his drawing room, feeling as if someone had slammed an anvil onto his head. He’d mucked it up. Entirely. Yasmin had charged him with his own despicable behavior, and he couldn’t defend himself, because she was right.

He had thought she was debauched. He had decided she was ineligible to be his countess. He had demeaned her in thought and behavior. It was irrelevant that he was trying to fend off an attraction to her so deep that he felt buffeted by it.

The fact was that he’d done it.

He’d made Yasmin feel small. He’d belittled the woman whom he desired above all other women: not despite her chatter, and her sensuality, and her sense of humor. He desired her for those things.

He sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. He had no idea how to make her understand. Nor did he think that she was wrong to say that she could find a better husband. He was like poison. He’d belittled her, and now he’d seduced her as well. Given her response to yesterday’s intimacy, she wasn’t used to affaires, no matter her reputation.

A staggering wave of despair went through him. He hadn’t felt like this when his mother died. In fact, he considered himself immune to deep emotions. He’d realized that years ago, when his father took his life, and he had had to mimic the sad faces of others at the graveside.

He heard the door open. “No tea,” he growled.