Page 80 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“I like it here. I likeyou. Even though you’re harder than this rock I’m sitting on.” She shifted, uncomfortably aware that she more than liked him. That’s why he was able to hurt her so deeply. She was deeply saddened at losing something that hadn’t even manifested fully. It left her desolate and feeling stupid for thinking he could be hers.
“Life made me hard,” he acknowledged somberly. “I forgot that you’ve had hard knocks yourself because you’ve still got kindness in you. I don’t know how, but you do. That’s why I wanted to marry you.”
Wanted. Not want. She nearly buried her burning eyes against her kneecaps.
“I thought you just wanted sex,” she mumbled, thinking of what he’d said the day they met.Having been married, you understand a man needs more than a hot meal and a mended shirt.
“’Course I want sex. I mean, I was hoping you wanted sex, too,” he added in a self-conscious mutter. “And that you’d marry me so we could do that. You shouldn’t feel ashamed if you want that,” he added with more heat. “It’s natural, but it wasn’t just that I wanted sex. You’re putting so much work into making my house a home it ought tobeyour home, and wearing my name would be protection for you. That’s what you said you wanted when you came here, right? If we were married and something happened to me, you would have income from my share of the company and could support my children. Otherwise, the men will hold it in trust for them, but you’d have nothing. I’m sure they’d pay you to look after them, but it wouldn’t be the same. Christ, if nothing else, take my name so the men will quit calling you Mrs.Davis.”
She blinked as she tried to assimilate that he’d put a lot more thought into this than she’d given him credit for. And emotion. It was animosity, sure, but it was kind of endearing.
“You really hate him,” she said of her former husband.
“I hate him so fucking much.”
She bit her lip to hide her smile, recognizing this as the moment that she fell in love with him. Unequivocally and irreversibly. She had never loved anyone this way. It was a strange, new type of love. When she’d married Ben, she’d been steeped in a combination of flattered ego and romantic ideals. She’d been enamored with achieving what she’d been told to achieve. She’d been admired for it, which had reinforced to her that what she felt must be what she had been told it was: love.
Thiswas love, though. It was a much more complex emotion that dug far deeper than anything she had ever experienced. It held the same affection and acceptance of flaws that she held in her heart for Pearl and Uncle Felix, the sort of love that would put their interests above her own because they were important to her.
It was broader than that, though. She could feel her heart stretching as it tried to accommodate all the ways she wanted to let Virgil into it. She wanted to know what was in his head and how she could bring him comfort. She wanted to tell him her secret yearnings and laugh with him and be brazen and wicked and unguarded.
She wanted him to love her back.
“I worry that if I marry, I’ll wind up trapped again, stuck with a man who doesn’t really care about me,” she confided.
“Tender feelings aren’t my strong suit, you know that.” His voice held regret, but his expression was pensive. His gaze held hers, asking for something. “I do care about you, Marigold. When I married Clara, I thought— Hell, I don’t know what I thought. My cock wanted a wife, so I found one. It was a disaster. This is different. I don’t want a wife. I wantyou. In my home. In my bed. Throwing shit on my shoes.” He pushed his hat more firmly onto his head. “I sound like an idiot.”
“No. That is quite possiblythemost romantic proposal any woman has ever received.” She was speaking facetiously, but she was also blinking dampness from her lashes that had nothing to do with the wisps of steam condensing on her face. Her throat was clogged with laughter that held every other soaring emotion attached to it.
He swore under his breath and looked away. “I just told you I’m not one for sentiment. If you want a husband who will bring you flowers, Gristle is still available.”
“I had one. A husband who gave me flowers, I mean.”
“’Course he did,” he said with disgust.
“But he only did it to impress other people. He brought them to me at the academy. He would show up with flowers so the headmistress and my fellow students would flutter around saying what a romantic suitor he was.” She swirled her arms through the water, wondering who that girl was who had believed that illusion. “The first day we came to court, he brought a bouquet and tried to give it to me. He made it seem as though he was trying to reconcile and I was at fault for refusing. It worked.”
“Can we make a pact?” He crouched and dangled his fingers in the water. “Can we never talk about him again? Because I get to planning murders. It’s not healthy.”
“One last thing.” She winced because it was still a very tender topic. “I tried to start a family with Ben. It didn’t happen. I might be barren.” She braced herself as she lifted her gaze. “If you want more children, we should stop talking of marriage.”
She held her breath as inscrutable reaction flickered across his face.
“I have my hands full with the three I’ve got,” he pointed out, but his expression grew concerned. “I would want to give you a baby if you wanted one. Does it upset you that it might not happen?”
“It used to upset me a great deal.” She’d been devastated each time her menses had arrived. “With the divorce and everything, I came to see it as having been for the best, but I’ve always wanted a family. When I decided to come here, I made my peace with being a stepmother or a governess, never realizing I would come to love your children as if they were my own.” He’d shown her with his own actions that you didn’t have to make a child to love them with your whole heart. “If I had your baby, it would be more goodness, but I wouldn’t feel so empty if it didn’t happen.”
He nodded somberly. “I would welcome more babies if they came along, but I won’t feel cheated if they don’t. I’m not shopping for a mare, Marigold.”
“Soromantic,” she groaned at the sky. “Are you shopping for a herd dog? Is that what you’re going to say next?”
He abruptly lifted his hand to send a spattering of water at her. “Have I mentioned lately what a pain in my ass you are?”
“I understand the water is medicinal. Sit in it. See if it helps.” She lifted her brows, ridiculously pleased to be back to throwing harmless barbs.
“You better mean that, because I’m coming in.” He stood and started to unbutton his coat. “I bathe naked.”
“Am I supposed to be frightened?” She was giddy with excitement.
