Oh, dear. She was still laboring under a misconception, only this time of a different flavor. Angelica had come prepared to talk him out of his supposed feelings for Clarissa Cosgrove last night, and today she was planning to talk him out of his feelings for Arthur Pettigrew. It would have been hilarious if he was watching it from the outside, not having to live through these painful moments. Of course he wasn't particularly attached to Arthur Pettigrew, or Clarissa Cosgrove, any more than he'd been attached to previous iterations of them — Octavia Fawley, say, or Leonid Fisk. They'd piqued his interest, but they hadn't ignited his passions in the same way that she had. No one could hold a candle to her, and Emrys thought she probably knew it. How could she have been on the receiving end of all his letters, all his caresses, and not have known?

But that didn't mean he was prepared to let go of all his reservations about marriage and plunge into the unknown with her. He may not have had any first hand experience in this matter, but he had more second-hand observations than most, and he knew — knew — that no marriage ended as happily as it began. He could look in any direction to find evidence of that.

"I never asked you to give up everything for me," he pointed out. He ignored her invitation to sit, at least for the moment.

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