She swallowed hard. The ruse was over. And so, it seemed, was her chance at a happy ever after.
He would never forgive her for this.
“I thought about telling you,” she said hoarsely.
His flat gaze was sharp enough to cut ice. “Did you?”
She didn’t blame him for not believing her.
He would probably never believe anything she said again.
“I stopped,” she whispered. “I’m not drawing anymore.”
His eyes flashed. “Youstarted.”
She had no reply.
Hurt mixed with anger on his face. He filled his lungs as if forcing himself to remain calm.
“Why did you do it?” His voice was detached, disinterested, emotionless. Like a judge about to pass sentence.
She doubted he would like her defense. “At first, my drawings were just for myself and my family. I would sketch whatever happened that day, and send them back home in the post.”
His lip curled. “So they could mock us from afar?”
“No.”
So they would know how it was going. She had learned to draw because she couldn’t write.
But that wasn’t why she had kept making caricatures.
“C-Carter sent one of the sketches to a publisher on a lark,” she began hesitantly.
A bark of laughter came from Heath’s throat. “You blame your brother for your drawings?”
“I do not. When the publisher offered more money for a single drawing than I could earn in a fortnight as a companion, I could not afford to stop. My grandparents could not afford for me to stop. Our farm could not afford for me to stop. So much was riding on my ability to scrape us out of our hole. The few sheep we still owned—”
“You lied to me.” His hazel eyes were furious. “While I dreamt of building a future together, you did your best to keep me in the dark.”
He was not listening. Nora’s fingers curled into fists. “I would think, as a secret-keeper, you of all people would understand the reason for lies of omission.”
“Of course I understand the need to keep certain details from the public. You were exploiting the public’s secrets for profit, and keeping your private self secret from me.That’swhy I’m angry.” His gaze was deeply hurt. “These magical eight weeks have been a complete misrepresentation of who you are. Who I thought I was falling in love with. Who I thought I was going to marry. You’re not that person at all.”
He was right.
She had good reasons for every minute of her actions, but his heart did not deserve to be treated shabbily. Not by her. Not by anyone. She might not have had a choice, but that didn’t make her any less a monster. He had loved her.
And now he didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said brokenly.
His laugh was hollow and bitter. “You’re not sorry. You climbed on top of me on that settee knowing full well how I would feel once I learned the truth. Was it all some trick to bring a future baron up to scratch? You played your hand well.” He gestured at the chaise in disgust. “The deed is done.”
Nora sucked in a shuddering breath. She could not let him think that the moment they had shared was all part of a grand manipulation to line her pockets. She loved him too much.
“It’s not too late for you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Our private moments can remain a secret. No one is better at keeping them than you.”
“No, I believe you win that award,” he said, his voice icy and his gaze empty.
