you?”
She felt a blush throb in her chest. It crept up her throat to her cheeks because it occurred to her that he might think it odd that she knew his middle name.
Please don’t let him guess that she used to sit in her chair repeating it over and over in her mind until Mother Brunne would reprimand her for smiling.
“I didn’t know you knew my full name.”
“Ivy told me—it just slipped out.” What a bald-faced lie! “I don’t dwell on your name—in fact, I rarely dwell on you at all.”
Rarely! Now he knew that she did occasionally dwell upon him.
“That’s neither here nor there. Once we are wed you can use my full name, dwell on me or don’t.”
How utterly mortifying! No doubt she was red as flame.
“I can’t imagine the woman who would not swoon at such a marriage proposal, as absurd as the notion is.”
He mumbled something—Aimee Peller—she thought it was. His ladylove no doubt, the woman who had stared at her from the sidewalk earlier, the very one who had tossed down a penny wishing for the proposal Agatha was getting.
No, probably not this proposal quite.
“We have no choice about it. People saw me carry you into the house. They’ll know we spent time alone.”
“There’s your staff. We are hardly alone.”
“There’s only two of them who live in the mansion. They aren’t here. An emergency came up with their mother and they left. I have no idea when or if they are coming back.”
“I imagine our reputations can survive until the weather lets up,” she said, knowing it was not true. Both of their reputations would be gleefully danced upon.
He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on parts of her body where a man’s gaze had never lingered.
Why, in the upheaval, she had nearly forgotten that she was dressed like a harlot!
People would think he had carried a coochie girl into his house!
This was a mess—but marriage? Surely there was another way?
“It’ll be morning before I can get you to a boarding house. Besides, you can’t go outside in that.”
Not if her life depended upon it! But, she had nothing else.
“Folks have short memories.” Hopefully she sounded confident, convincing. But folks also had long memories. Some old-timers at the Lucky Clover still gossiped about Agatha’s mother, how she had divorced Papa and taken only one of her twins with her. “This won’t be much of a scandal a few weeks from now. Oh, you’ve got a cracked window, by the way.”
He stared at her in silence for so long it became uncomfortable.
His eyes used to have the most appealing twinkle. It was not evident at the moment.
Honestly, he could not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him.
“I’m running for governor one day. You know that. I’ll have enemies who will go looking for any way to discredit me.”
“That’s still many years away. New scandals will come along. No one will recall this.”
“I wish that were true, Agatha. But politics is an ugly game. People will remember and in the nastiest way.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples to try and lasso her stampeding thoughts. He was right, wicked-minded folks would remember—remember and talk.
It made her sick to her stomach to think he might lose his dream because he came to her aid.
“If it’s such an ugly game, why not forget about running for governor. Go home and care for your ranch.”
“The ranch doesn’t need me. My mother runs it better than any man.” A punching wind blew something over outside. She heard it tumble across the yard. “And why aren’t you at home? What were you doing involved with the circus?”
“That’s a talk for another time. Right now we are discussing why you want to be involved in such dirty business.”
He shrugged one shoulder, tipped his head. “I see injustice and I want to make it right. It’s like an itch in my bones, righting things while crooked politicians act on things that only benefit them.”
Suddenly she suspected that lamplight was reflecting on the crimson sequins of her costume in a way that did not protect her modesty.
Agatha picked up the dog, positioned the furry little thing over her breasts. Too bad the tip of her wagging tail would not be hiding anything, but accentuating it.
Marry William? No! She could not possibly marry him—the very man she had dreamed of since she knew how to dream.
He was far too safe. Why, she could live in his house and never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life. She could sit in a chair by the window and watch the world go by—just like she used to do.
“I don’t know, William. You might make a difficult husband. You are just plain bossy.”
He laughed, low in his chest, and there in the corner of one eye, the mysterious twinkle flashed.
“You and my mother will like each other.”
“And you are assuming I have accepted your proposal.” The weak-kneed child inside of her wanted to—urged her to—crawl up into her prince’s arms where life would never hurt her. Where shadows would never chase her down and threaten her. “I have not.”
Speaking her mind in such a forceful way was not what she was used to. She would become used to it, though, once she spent enough time on her own.
William walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He traced his finger over the crack in the glass. With a curse, he let the drape fall into place.
“Is the wind worse?” She set Miss Valentine gently on the floor, exposing herself once again. It was not as though she could take back anything he had already seen.
“It’s worse, but not so bad as to keep half a dozen people across the street from ogling their mayor’s front door.”
“I don’t wish to marry. I’m sorry, William, but I don’t.”
Except, that maybe she did.
“It wasn’t what I woke up wanting, either.”
Without warning, Leah Madrigal’s wink flashed in her mind. The fortune-teller said that sometimes the glass ball saw things. No—that could not be. More likely the perceptive woman had seen the look of longing on Agatha’s face while she had been staring at William’s back.
“You, at least had a bit of warning.” She must be getting desperate to even bring this nonsense up. “I heard the fortune-teller tell
