She did not speak for several seconds. “You have to marry me now.”

“I had been planning to ask,” he reminded her.

“I know”—she picked at the hem of her bedsheet—“but no one likes to be forced.”

He reached out and grasped her hand. “I know.”

“I—”

“You were forced,” he said vehemently. “It is not fair, and if you wish to withdraw—”

“No!” She drew back, looking surprised by her outburst. “That is to say, no, I don’t wish to withdraw. I can’t really.”

“You can’t,” he echoed, his voice dull.

“Well, no,” she said, eyes flashing with impatience. “Were you even listening today?”

“What I heard,” he said with what he hoped was adequate patience, “was a woman sacrificing herself.”

“And that’s not what you did?” she shot back. “When you went to your father and threatened to kill yourself?”

“You can’t compare the two. I caused this whole bloody mess. It is incumbent upon me to fix it.”

“You’re angry because you’ve been usurped?”

“No! For the love of—” He raked his hand through his hair. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I would not dream of it. You’re doing quite a job of it on your own.”

“You should not have come to the White Hart,” he said in a very low voice.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.”

“You did not know what sort of dangers awaited you.”

She snorted. “Apparently neither did you!”

“My God, woman, must you be so stubborn? Don’t you understand? I cannot protect you!”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I am to be your husband,” he said, each word slicing his throat on the way to his lips. “It is my duty.”

Her teeth were clenched so tightly that her chin was shaking. “Do you know,” she ground out, “that since this afternoon, no one—not you, not your father, not even my cousin—has thanked me?”

Hugh’s eyes flew to hers.

“No, don’t say it now,” she snapped. “Do you think I could possibly believe you? I went to the inn because I was so scared, because you and Daniel had painted a picture of a madman, and all I could think was that he was going to hurt you—”

“But—”

“Don’t say that he would never hurt you. That man is stark raving mad. He would cut off your arm as long as he was assured you could still sire children.”

Hugh blanched. He knew it was true, but he hated that she even had to think about it. “Sarah, I—”

“No.” She jabbed her index finger toward him. “This is my turn. I’m speaking. You’re being quiet.”

“Forgive me,” he said, so softly the words were but a whisper on his lips.