“I will not be a paramour,” she whispered, the heat in her voice now laced with steel. “You cannot have your cake and eat it too, Edward. And I have far too much self-respect to keep giving you what you want and expect nothing in return.”
The silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid.
She held his gaze a moment longer, fighting the ache in her chest, the heat still burning in her veins.
Then, with trembling dignity, she slipped free of his hold and drew up her gown.
“But Idowant you in my life, Alice,” he pressed.
“But not in the only way I would accept. I am sorry, Edward. You need to find what you want—I cannot do it for you.”
“God damn it,” he swore, tugging at his hair. “I don’t know what I want!”
She shook her head. “You can’t keep trying to buy my affection. This... all of this—it is empty without—”
“Without what?” he growled, closing the gap until her back met the wall again, his voice low, desperate. “Marriage? A ring? Words that aremeaningless?” His eyes bore into hers,smoldering. “You already belong to me in every way thatmatters!”
She looked squarely into his eyes, her gaze heavy with disappointment, but underneath it rested pity, and that made his pride curdle.
“I think youalreadyknow, Edward—the problem is that you will never admit it to yourself. I will never beg a man to love me,” she said, stepping away from him, her voice trembling with pain. “…No matter how much I love him.Please, don’t do anything like this again. Let this be our goodbye.”
And just as swiftly as she’d arrived, she left. Like a wraith to the morning dew.
As Edward gaped at the shutting door, pain coursed through him, but not physical pain. No, it was his heart, hisdamnedheart. It felt as if someone had cracked his breastbone open and set the organ on fire, that was how much it stung; he could barely countenance it.
Why the blazes had she had to say that she loved him? His throat tightened at the very thought of the word.
All his life, he had tried not to hurt people, as his father had done his mother. But Alice? He’d hurt her. The agony had shone in her stricken eyes. He cursed himself.
He’d failed her.
Worst of all—he’d failed himself. For pride. For an old decision he had made years ago. Forspite.
Maybe it was time for Gentleman Jacks after all.
CHAPTER 22
“Number thirty-four…” Alice whispered to herself as she walked along the homes in St John’s Wood, trying to find Diana’s home.
It was well past the two weeks her friend had told her she would be in town, but Alice severely needed to find a listening ear. She’d found herself between the agonizing place of wanting to scream her heart out or dissolve in a river of tears. Possibly both—at the same time.
She spotted the number on the brass plate and let out a long breath; that was the house. Grasping her skirts, she climbed the steps and knocked with her heart hammering in her chest.
A footman answered and bowed, “Welcome to the Duhart house. May I help you, Miss?”
“Good morning, is Mrs—” Alice flailed at realizing she did not know her friend's married name. “—Mrs. Diana home? I am Alice Winslow, we are old friends.”
It was risky knowing that her friend might have left and she had come out all this way for nothing; if Diana was not there, she’d just taken a rather long walk home.
“She is, Miss,” the man replied. “Please come in and I will let her know she has a guest.”
Relief nearly took Alice’s feet from under her, but she nodded and stepped in, gently peeling her coat and sunhat away and handing them to another footman.
“Alice!” Diana called to her while flying down the stairs, her arms opened for a warm hug.
Wrapping her arms around her friend, Alice held onto her emotions and smiled, but knew it was wobbly. Diana sighed, “I was planning to offer hyson tea, but now I am thinking some sherry would do you well… whatever is the matter?”
Her throat felt thick and so not to risk speaking and her voice cracking, Alice simply nodded and followed Diana up to a cozy sitting room; the soft blue and grey wallpaper and wide-open windows eased the tight feeling in her chest.
