Page 93 of Saving Miss Pratt

She braced herself for the eventual onslaught.

When he finally broke the silence, it was not with angry condemnation but hushed compassion. “Oh, Cilla.” He gazed down at the letter again. “Timothy Marbry is the man of whom you spoke—the one who has stolen your heart.”

“Yes.”

“And this confession he speaks of? Was it your declaration of love?”

“Not precisely. I didn’t tell him I loved him.”

There was no need for him to voice his next question. His quirked brows were enough.

“I told him I wanted him.”

Victor shot upright from his seat. “Dear God, tell me you did not say that?”

Squaring her shoulders, she met his glare. “I most certainly did, so much that it hurts. And I demanded he admit he wanted me too.”

He paced before her. “Are you mad?”

“Perhaps. I told him I desire a marriage filled with passion.” She pointed to the letter dangling from Victor’s fingers. “That’s what he refused to name. But he made it perfectly clear that although he desires me, he would not—could not—love me, nor anyone else for that matter.”

“But you said he’s courting Lady Honoria Bell. And who is this Emma woman? This man should be horsewhipped for toying with women’s feelings so cavalierly.”

“He is courting Honoria, in his own words, because she’s safe. He would never risk his heart married to her.”

Victor shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I can’t believe you would have affection for such a man.”

“You misjudge him, brother. He’s kind and caring. Something has hurt him, I just know it. He admitted to protecting himself.”

“And this Emma?”

“I am Emma.”

At Victor’s confused expression, Priscilla told him about the time in the cottage, Timothy’s injury, the chicken, even the kiss.

“I never thought I’d see him again. I wanted someone to see me without the shadow of disgrace looming over me. To have someone like me for who I am.”

Victor chuckled. “By throwing a boot at them?”

A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Well, perhaps not that.”

“Well, that does sound likeyou.But a chicken? Truly?”

She nodded. “And it was delicious.”

The fleeting amusement faded from Victor’s face. “This was in winter?” His gaze dipped, then locked on her belly. “I should strangle him with my bare hands. Are you certain you only shared a kiss?”

“Yes.” But it was a glorious kiss, one she had mentally reprised countless times since.

“I could confront him. As a gentleman, he would be honor bound to marry you. He could be yours, Cilla.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want him like that. If he can’t give himself to me freely, I don’t want him at all.” She plucked the letter from Victor’s grasp, once again gazing at the paragraph mentioning Mr. Netherborne. “But there’s something here, something hidden within the words that gives me hope. Perhaps I’m a fool.”

“I won’t insult you with my response to that statement.”

She pointed to the words in question. “He thinks I care for Mr. Netherborne, but what he witnessed was my affection for you. I must tell him the truth.”

“Shall I accompany you?”