Bared to the Viscount (The Rites of May Book 1) by Lara Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

“I have always liked and admired you.”
    “But did you ever once think of marrying me?”
    He glanced up, considering, and then an impish look crossed his face. “Well, I do seem to remember a scheme to run off and sail a pirate ship together.”
    A short, pained laugh escaped her. She’d forgotten about that. Long ago, they’d given themselves bloodthirsty pirate names, made buccaneer hats out of paper, even drawn up maps of all the coastline they planned to terrorize. “That was when we were ten years old.”
    “It counts.” His eyes twinkled, just for a moment—the first sign of light in them she’d seen all evening. A tender ache filled her heart.
    Oh, he really wasn’t making this easier for her.
    But she shook her head. “As I recall, our only concern about how we’d live together was which of us got to be captain.”
    “Mary,” he whispered. His expression had gentled and grown sad. “Be sensible. This isn’t a game.”
    “Precisely. It’s the rest of our lives we’re talking about. So I’ll ask you again: would you ever have asked me to marry you if we hadn’t gone out in the woods this morning? Tell the truth.” She did her best to smile at him, trying to keep her mouth from wobbling. “I know it already anyway.”
    He looked down. “Well…no,” he admitted at last. “I can’t say that I did.”
    “That’s all I need to hear.” She swung herself back into efficient action, moving past her erstwhile suitor to retrieve her dustpan and broom to sweep up the broken teacup. If she could just get the shattered bits cleaned up, she could put everything else back in order, too. Back the way it should be. “I will not saddle you with a wife for such a small indiscretion. Not a wife like me. We would be miserable together.” She looked up into the sudden shock in his eyes, and softened her words. “I would not do that to someone I call a friend.”
    John drew in a slow, deep breath. There was resignation in it, but also pain. He was an honorable man, and she was forcing him to compromise what he saw as his honor. “This isn’t over,” he said. “You will be convinced.”
    “That’s not possible.” The china shards tinkled as she swept them together and poured them into the bin beside the door. “I think things through carefully, and once I’ve come to a decision, I stick to it. I’m stubborn, and you know it.”
    Setting down her broom, she picked up her lantern again and walked briskly to the front door, shepherding him along with her. “It’s time you left now. You are my friend, John, always. But it’s not proper for you to be here any longer, and we will not discuss this again.”
     

 
     
    Chapter Five
     
     
    John took the long route home through the woods, trudging along, his head aching, and his chest feeling oddly sore and hot as well. Thankfully, enough moonlight streamed through the trees here and there to let him pick out his path, for he couldn’t have borne the revealing light of a lantern. Shame weighed heavily on his shoulders.
    He’d felt enough of that emotion on his walk to the vicarage tonight—shame at his own impetuous behavior up on the hill that morning, shame at the dishonor he’d visited upon a decent girl like Mary, shame at the idea of jilting the Lawton girls he’d kept waiting for so long. And, most of all, shame at having to break his solemn promise to his father to align the Parkhursts with the Lawtons.
    But when he arrived at Mary’s door, and saw her in that little circle of lantern light, her skin going pink, then pale, then pink again, he discovered a whole new sort of shame awaiting him, a shame he hadn’t even been expecting. He’d assumed he’d talk to Thomas Wilkins first, and that the vicar would ensure his sister’s cooperation in the marriage. He hadn’t expected Mary to be alone, and free to speak entirely for herself.
    And he certainly hadn’t expected her to say no .
    At least not to say no quite so unequivocally. So