Page 50 of A Convenient Fiction

He turned back to her, expecting he knew not what. But there was no censure in Laura’s eyes. No anger that he’d lied to her, and to her family. There was only compassion. Concern. A desire to help. To understand.

And he knew then that she cared for him. Not the fiction he’d created, but him. The man.

The realization struck his resolve a mortal blow.

Just like that, the carefully constructed façade he’d hidden behind since arriving in Lower Hawley cracked and splintered, shattering at his feet like so much broken glass. In that brief moment, there was nothing between them. No more lies. No more artifice. There was only him. Alex Archer. Vulnerable, exposed.

“I never had a mother. I never had a father, either. I never had any relations—not even a godfather.” His chest constricted with long-suppressed bitterness and regret. And shame. So much shame he thought he would choke on it. “I grew up in a parish orphanage. A miserable place, far from here. A place I’ve spent all of my life trying to forget.”

She stared at him, her bosom rising and falling on an uneven breath. The silence stretched taut between them.

And he knew he’d said too much. That he’d confided too much. That he’d probably ruined everything.

“Haven’t you anything to say?” he asked at last. “Anything at all?”

Laura opened her mouth to reply. The words that tumbled out appeared to shock her as much as they did him. “I have a family,” she said. “You should marry me.”

Alex couldn’t have looked any more stunned if Laura had slapped him just as she’d once slapped George Wright. Indeed, he looked more surprised than George had. Surprised, and strangely, uncharacteristically, vulnerable.

“What?” The single word was so soft she barely heard it.

“I have a brother and an aunt. And I have myself.” She felt flushed and breathless. Unable to stop the words from coming. “We’re not a large family. Quite small, really. But we all belong to each other, whatever comes. Wherever we are is our home. That’s what you’re searching for, not land. Not riches.”

His throat convulsed on a swallow. “Laura…”

“If you married me, you would have a family, too. But not wealth and property. Not a grand estate like you’d have if you married Henrietta.”

A fleeting expression of longing shone in his eyes. Bitter longing. He wanted her. She knew it. Why else had he kissed her? Why else did he continue to seek her out? And yet when given the chance to have her—to have her honestly, legally, before the eyes of God and man—he was reluctant. No, not reluctant. Unwilling.

“I can’t marry you,” he said.

Something inside of her—some small, bright bloom of hope—withered and died. Gone, as if it had never been there at all. In its place, she expected to feel embarrassment. To be ashamed that she’d ever given voice to such a foolish notion. But it wasn’t her pride that hurt at his refusal.

At least, not only her pride.

She affected a look of unconcern. “Of course you can’t. I have no fortune.”

“No, you don’t. But…it’s not just a matter of money.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “There’s no place in my life for unfettered emotion. If I care about anyone too deeply, things always go wrong. I begin to make mistakes. What I need is predictability. Quiet, dispassionate routine.” His gaze cut to hers. “Marrying you would be like marrying the storm. And I’ve had enough of the storm in my life.”

“You’re looking for calmer seas.”

“I’d as soon have no sea at all.”

“Pity.” Laura stood and dusted off her skirts. They were still damp, half-sticking to her bare legs. “I’d taken you for a gentleman with more mettle.”

He rose to his feet. The sunlight cast a shadow over his face. “A wise man knows his limitations.”

“I don’t think you’re wise. I think you’re a coward.”

His jaw hardened. “Laura—”

“You believe you can have a full life without feeling anything? As if you’re a spectator, standing by the side of the road, watching the parade go by? Never risking anything—never getting hurt?” She made a scoffing sound. “That’s not living.”

“I’m afraid I’ve hurt you.”

“You couldn’t. You don’t have the power.”

“I believe I do.” A frown marred his brow. “I should never have kissed you.”