An Offer From a Gentleman (Cinderella)

Chapter 33

Ah, a reaction. “I know.”

She went back to shoving her belongings into her satchel.

He waved an arm expansively. “Feel free to take a souvenir.”

She straightened, her hands planted angrily on her hips. “Does that include the silver tea service? Because I could live for several years on what that would fetch.”

“You may certainly take the tea service,” he replied genially, “as you will not be out of my company.”

“I will not be your mistress,” she hissed. “I told you, I won’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Something about her use of the word “can’t” struck him as significant. He mulled that over for a few moments while she gathered up the last of her belongings and cinched shut the drawstring to her satchel.

“That’s it,” he murmured.

She ignored him, instead marching toward the door and giving him a pointed look.

He knew she wanted him to get out of the way so she could depart. He didn’t move a muscle, save for one finger that thoughtfully stroked the side of his jaw. “You’re illegitimate,” he said.

The blood drained from her face.

“You are,” he said, more to himself than to her. Strangely, he felt rather relieved by the revelation. It explained her rejection of him, made it into something that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her.

It took the sting out.

“I don’t care if you’re illegitimate,” he said, trying not to smile. It was a serious moment, but by God, he wanted to break out in a grin because now she’d come to London with him and be his mistress. There were no more obstacles, and—

“You don’t understand anything,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not about whether I’m good enough to be your mistress.”

“I would care for any children we might have,” he said solemnly, pushing himself away from the doorframe.

Her stance grew even more rigid, if that were possible. “And what about your wife?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Ever?”

He froze. A vision of the masquerade lady danced through his mind. He’d pictured her many ways. Sometimes she wore her silver ballgown, sometimes nothing at all.

Sometimes she wore a wedding dress.

as she watched his face, then she snorted derisively as she stalked past

“That’s not a fair question, Sophie,” he

pausing when she reached

he was below

to; he was blocking her path. “Yes, you do,”

was your

don’t know,”

“Who was your mother?”

at

said she was a

past the point of caring that she’d been caught in a

did you grow

trying to squirm

around her upper arm, holding her firmly in place. “I find it very

“Let me go!”

enough so that the Crabtrees would certainly come running to save her. Except that Mrs. Crabtree had gone to the village, and Mr. Crabtree was outside,

“You’re not cut out for a

were going to kill me,” she returned,

do

about me,” she said, nearly shaking with emotion. “You’re not doing this out of concern

is true,” he admitted, “but I also won’t

God above, she didn’t want to cry in front of this man.

her chin. “Let

His touch was painfully sweet, and a not very small part of her was aching to accept his offer, to leave the life she’d been forced to live and cast her lot with him, this marvelous, wonderful, infuriating man who had haunted her

the

not do this to

she whispered.

do you wish?” he asked

she wished that she could, but she knew that such words would be unwise. He would

would make it all the harder

leave me no choice, then,”

Her eyes met his.

come with me to London, and—” He held up a silencing hand when she tried

asked,

to inform the

mouth abruptly tasted like acid.

don’t want

“But you would.”

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