Page 96 of To Catch a Viscount

And she fell a little in love with Andrew Barrett that moment. “You deserve more,” she whispered.

He frowned. “Wait now. That is my line.”

“Actually, I spoke it, and it is mine.”

“Yes, but when I speak it about you, I mean it.”

“I mean it, too, Andrew. You do. The only reason you were with me was because I asked you to. You didn’t want to. You wanted to protect me. I can hardly repay your friendship with the last thing you want.” At his puzzled look, she elucidated, “Me.”

Andrew frowned.

As a confirmed bachelor, he expected he should feel relieved that she was rejecting his offer.

There should be a great rush of relief.

And yet, there wasn’t any sense of relief. He waited and waited, with the Ormolu clock ticking away the seconds, but it never came.

Strangely, it had nothing to do with the fact that her rejecting his offer would result in the forfeiture of his funds and properties.

“What is so very wrong with you that you believe I’m the better catch?” he asked, perturbed that she should so devalue herself.

“Andrew,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air with exasperation. “I’m Atbrooke’s daughter.”

God, he despised that name.

He despised everything about that family.

He’d made the mistake of trusting his heart to Atbrooke’s sister, who’d been intent on destroying his sister Justina’s now husband. But having seen Marianne at the club again, he’d realized what he’d felt for her had been a boy’s fascination. Whereas Marcia? She was a clever, kind, spirited woman whom he admired.

“I’ve already told you, Marcia,” he said quietly. “You are nothing like him.”

“You’re saying that because you’re my friend.” She spoke in the firm, resolute tones of a lady who knew who she was and who’d accepted it, and yet, her gaze slipped to the floor, and she studied the tips of her slippers like they contained the answers to the universe.

Andrew brushed a fingertip along her jaw, bringing her eyes up to his.

“Yes, I am saying that because I’m your friend.”

She stiffened.

“Because I would never be friends with one like Atbrooke, and I know you.”

Tears filled her eyes, and the sight of that crystalline sheen hurt worse than any of the blows her father had landed on Andrew last evening. “Hey,” he murmured, drawing her close in a way that had always felt natural with Marcia.

She turned her face, pressing her cheek against his shoulder as if she couldn’t meet his eyes, and he simply held her.

And oddly, it felt… right.

It was strange for him to enjoy holding her in this innocent way that wasn’t sexual. And yet, he did enjoy it.

If he’d made that admission to anyone, his reputation would have been destroyed—and rightly so.

He sensed her wavering, and pressed the one reminder which he knew would seal their future together. “There is also the matter of your sisters, Marcia,” he said gently, and he felt her tense in his arms.

“I know,” she whispered. “It is one thing to have bumbled my future, but to see them suffer because of my actions…”

She drew away a moment later, perfectly composed, and smoothed her palms along the front of her lavender skirts. And secretly, he found himself missing the loss of her weight against him.

“I want to,” she said, hugging herself.

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