The context had been different then, but the truth contained within was the same.
“But what else could you want, if not me?”
“Imogen, I wish you well in life, but that life will not be spent with me. A little advice,” he added as he swung the door open. “Be happy with your earl. You earned him.”
She pushed upright on the chaise longue, her eyes ablaze. “How dare you?—”
But the remainder of her words were cut off when he pulled the door firmly closed behind him.
How dare he, indeed.
Through the house, he strode, a man focused on his mission, ignoring greetings from guests and queries from servants.
They could wait.
When he reached Beatrix’s bedroom, the door was cracked an inch. Warily, he pushed it open.Empty.He stepped inside and understood immediately.
She was gone.
Not a trace of her remained.
He’d had it all perfectly planned. Payment for services rendered was to have been delivered during the dance, putting an official end to their business dealings and making it possible to start their future from a fresh place.
What he hadn’t anticipated was a pair of arresting gray eyes glaring up at him with hurt and anger.
Too late.
Two simple words, but when arranged in that configuration, they held the power to fill the rest of one’s life with regret.
All his life he’d vanquished.
But there was no vanquishing in love.
Only surrender.
And he’d surrendered too late.
He’d once thought nothing would ever be enough until Imogen was his.
But that wasn’t the truth of the matter.
It was the shallow thinking of a young man.
What he felt for Beatrix shafted deep into the core of him.
Simply, nothing meant anything without her.
Her absence stripped all meaning from his life.
But it wouldn’t last.
Surely.
Surely, she would see that truth and understand she felt the same.
Through hurt and frustration came another emotion—annoyance.
He loved her.
