Miss Challoner rose from her chair, and curtsied. “You are extremely obliging, my lord, but I must humbly decline the honour of becoming your wife.”
“You will marry me,” said his lordship, “if I have to force you to the altar.”
She blinked at him. “Are you mad, sir? You cannot possibly wish to marry me.”
“Of course I don’t wish to marry you!” he said impatiently. “I scarcely know you. But I play my cards in accordance with the rules. I have a number of vices, but abducting innocent damsels and casting them adrift on the world is not one of them. Pray have a little sense, ma’am! You eloped with me, leaving word of it with your mother; if I let you go you could not reach your home again until tomorrow night at the earliest. By that time — if I know your mother and sister at all — the whole of your acquaintance will be apprised of your conduct. Your reputation will be so smirched not a soul will receive you. And this, ma’am, is to go down to my account! I tell you plainly, I’ve no mind to become an object of infamy.”
Miss Challoner pressed a hand to her forehead. “Am I to marry you to save my face, or yours?” she demanded.
“Both,” replied his lordship.
She looked doubtfully at him for a moment. “My lord, I fear I am too tired to think very clearly,” she sighed.
“You’d best go to bed,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, and held her away from him, looking down at her. She met his gaze frankly, wondering what he would say next. He surprised her yet again. “Don’t look so worn, my dear; it’s the devil of a coil, but I won’t let it harm you. Good night”
Unaccountable tears stung her eyelids. She stepped back, and dropped a curtsy. “Thank you,” she said shakily. “Good night, my lord.”