The Abandoned Bride by Edith Layton

gaze directly into her eyes.
    But now natural anger displaced all of Julia’s carefully thought-out evasions. She slapped his hand away and cried, “Do not touch me!
    “I do not like to be touched,” Julia blurted, “and you are forever gripping my chin and looking at me this way and that, as though I were a noddy doll or some other sort of insensible object.” Then, acutely aware of the flash of anger she had seen in his changeable eyes, she swallowed hard and went on in accents that she hoped did not sound so pitiful to his ears as they did to her own, “I’m sorry if I have angered you, I did not mean to do so, it is only that I have told you that you’ve won. I’ll apologize as well, if that is what you wish. Only pray don’t be angry with me. It’s just that I’m not in the mood for any more games, my lord, and I should like to go home now. We’ll play again another day, if you wish,” she added, her voice now trembling as much as her knees were as he frowned down at her in silence.
    “By God!” he exclaimed at last in an undervoice. “Do you think me mad?”
    Since that was precisely the reaction she had least wished for him to have, Julia felt positively faint. When he saw her blanch, however, he looked as startled as she felt.
    “Good lord,” he said, reaching out to take her hands, and then dropping those two icy shivering members as soon as he had gripped them. “You do.”
    There was such incredulity in his voice and such amazement in his face as he shook his head that Julia took heart. It did not seem as though he were about to go off in a blind rage immediately, so she had at least the space of a few heartbeats to quieten her breathing and order her thoughts.
    “Miss Hastings,” the baron said after he had taken an agitated turn about the room, “I assure you that I am in full possession of my senses. I realize,” he added on a half laugh, which quite transformed his face, since she had never seen him honestly amused before, “that my assurances on the matter will have little weight for I don’t believe that madmen generally do admit to their deficiency. I don’t believe they even realize it,” he continued, as though to himself, frowning once more at the direction of his thoughts, “but I promise you that no one has ever accused me of such. At least, not to my face. That’s small consolation for you, isn’t it?” he added wryly, before he smiled once again and said with finality, “I am not mad, Miss Hastings, and though like most men, I cannot prove that fact, I can at least reiterate it: I am, for all my sins, quite sane. Whatever gave you the notion that I was deranged?” he asked curiously.
    “Why this whole episode,” Julia replied, feeling as though she herself were unbalanced, trying to explain why she found the present situation she was in unusual, when the mere fact of it was incredible. Still, he now seemed so reasonable, there was the faintest hope that there had been some monstrous mistake made and discussion might right matters again.
    “The fact that I am standing here now,” Julia said bravely. “The fact that Lady Cunningham doesn’t exist. The fact that you lured me to France, and wrote me those letters. None of it makes any sense, there’s not a bit of it that is rational.”
    But now his air of sweet reason vanished again and he turned a face to her that was cold and implacable. Julia could not control the little gasp that escaped her lips, and at that, the baron seemed taken aback again. He made a sound of exasperation, and then sighed. “Sit down, Miss Hastings,” he said in a neutral tone, “as far away as you wish, but close enough to hear me out.”
    Julia seated herself in a small gilt chair comfortably close to the closed door. The baron stood and looked down at her with a certain amount of calculation apparent in his gaze. Then he sighed again and said in very emotionless tones, “I told you the whole of it when we last met. But if you like,