to be. But in the end others would still see her as pitiful.
Worse, they would see William as unworthy of their trust. How could she live with herself knowing he lost everything for her sake?
She stepped away from him because she wanted to lean into him, feel his arms fold about her and deflect the ugly words that were bound to be spoken about her.
“You would want to be in control of me.”
“Only insofar as it’s for your own good.”
“Do you understand that it’s up to me to decide what is for my own good? I spent my whole life trusting Hilda Brunne to know what was best for me. I won’t allow anyone to have that power over me again.”
“That was evil power, honey.” He caught both of her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her palms. “I would never treat you that way.”
“I know that, William, but—”
“What if I declare, in the wedding vows, to try not to be overbearing, excessively protective. Even though it would be my duty as your husband to do so.”
How could she not laugh? He looked so sincere about saying vows that he did not agree with.
She could not let herself be swayed by that consideration, though. William English was a man who wanted control. He might be ever so sweet about it, but it didn’t change anything.
Freedom to grow was what she needed. For as much as he might not want to tell her what to do and when to do it, such behavior was in his nature.
A test. She would give him a test to see if he could really let go of control.
Sliding her hand down his shirt, she felt the firm ridges of his chest. She yanked her hand away then slowly, deliberately, picked up Miss Valentine and set her on the expensive divan.
The dog scratched the fabric then circled searching for a comfortable position. After finding the cushion to her liking, she settled in to lick her injured paw. A damp circle darkened the fabric.
Agatha watched William frown. Purse his lips.
As she suspected, he did not want animals in the house.
“I believe that dogs belong—” he closed his eyes, shook his head “—where their mistress says they belong.”
My word. She had not expected that.
“She needs to be taken to the veterinarian. No doubt he will agree that she must have a soft place to recover.”
“I’ll have him look at her tomorrow. I’ll put her back on the couch, myself.”
“I’m grateful, William.” More than he could guess. “She’s a brave little soul.”
“Now will you marry me?”
She could not possibly marry him. With her gaze fastened on his eyes, she slowly shook her head.
“Please don’t turn me down. For both of our sakes, you’ve got to become my wife—tonight.”
“I suppose we could marry then divorce after the risk of scandal has passed,” she suggested even though it was not what she had ever dreamed she would say to this man.
He shook his head. Reflected light from the flames in the hearth danced in his hair. If she did agree to marry him, maybe one day she would be bold enough to run her fingers through those dark locks.
“There will be no divorce.” Funny how she was relieved to hear that. “If you choose not to live with me, I will support you financially. But a divorce will not do.”
“I suppose I could make a very long visit to the Lucky Clover.”
“I would permit that.” He was far too handsome, flashing that teasing smile. “Will you marry me now?”
“I would go home to the ranch according to what I decide. Not what you will permit. You must understand that I need to make my own choices.”
“I’ll do my best, Agatha. I swear it.” He did look sincere. “Do you choose to marry me?”
Did she? He’d saved her future that awful night when he’d kept her from turning to laudanum for comfort. He’d sat down beside her, put a book in her hands and become the comfort.
Now, his future depended upon her.
“I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”
“Step right up close to me, honey.”
She did. He measured her height with the flat of his hand. She was as tall as the button on his collar. Next he cupped her waist with his fingers, seeming to judge its size.
The last thing he did before he stepped away from her was to kiss top of her top of her head, pluck a dried leaf out of the tangled mass. From the corner of her eye she saw it drift to the floor.
“Will you marry me if I show up here with a preacher and a wedding gown?”
“And a witness. Don’t forget a witness.”
* * *
It had been a couple of hours before that William had decided that a tornado was not poised at the edge of town ready to rush in and blow everyone away.
The dressmaker had not been pleased to be awoken at four in the morning, but she hadn’t minded being paid triple the amount for the three gowns he’d purchased.
Her expression had been miles beyond curious so he’d simply told her the truth—nearly the truth, that they were for his wife.
No one need know that the preacher had not crossed his threshold until nearly five o’clock. That the man’s good wife had found Agatha reading a book on the couch in the parlor and hustled her upstairs to dress her in the wedding gown draped over his arm.
The dress had been intended for a bride in Cheyenne, but given what he was willing to pay, the seamstress said she could make another.
The promise of more business had apparently been enough to keep her from asking questions and simply extend her good wishes.
With any luck this marriage would be accepted without a great deal of unwholesome talk.
He’d lose votes for sure if anyone spread lies about Agatha’s virtue.
No one voted for a candidate who punched them in the nose—which he might do if anyone maligned sweet Agatha.
He’d been so caught up in his thoughts and staring at the dust he’d forgotten to wipe from his boots, that he failed to hear the rustle of fabric at the head of the stairs until the preacher nudged him in the ribs.
“Your bride awaits, young man.”
Glancing up, William had to catch his heart. It felt like it had escaped his chest and gone running up the steps to embrace her.
Agatha
