to think it could possibly be more. ‘I don’t want to get married. To you or anyone else. You don’t even like me.’ Dash it, why had she given voice to that little bit of resentment?
‘I don’t dislike you.’ His voice was arctic.
‘In truth? When you think I planned to trap you into marrying me?’
He winced. ‘I beg your pardon. I am as much to blame as you for what happened.’
She gasped theatrically. ‘Are you actually apologising?’
‘Now who is being sarcastic?’
She laughed. ‘Touché, Your Grace.’
He smiled, albeit a little unwillingly and fleetingly. Still, it made her heart feel a little lighter to see his expression ease. He looked much younger, more approachable. Perhaps... But no. She was right. When this was over they would part company. Because when this was over, even his honour wouldn’t be enough to make him want her as his wife.
A pang twisted in her chest. ‘Let us see how we feel about it once Moreau is caught.’
He looked unconvinced but resigned, and that was the best she could hope for.
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