“Not Rakesley.”
Understanding dawned across Gwyneth’s face. “Ah, the duchess.”
“She did all within her power to split us apart,” he said. “And she succeeded.”
“But that’s the past, Bran,” said Gwyneth, with all the fervor and naïveté of youth. “It’s obvious you still love each other.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Nothing in life was.
He hoped Gwyneth never had to learn that lesson.
“Isn’t it?”
He weighed how much to tell her, then said, “There was a pregnancy.”
Gwyneth’s eyes went wide with shock. “You abandoned Artemis when she was with child?”
“That was what she thought.”
“You didn’t know about it?”
“No.”
“And that was the duchess’s doing.”
“I only recently found out.”
“And the child?”
He shook his head against the knot that had formed in his throat. “The pregnancy didn’t take.”
“Oh, Bran.” She reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
At that moment, golden sun broke through gray clouds. Side by side, they sat staring out, considering the possibility of a beautiful day.
“But, Bran?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why aren’t you in Yorkshire watching the sunrise with Artemis?”
“I decided,” he began, and stopped.
He didn’t like the direction of that sentence.
I.
That was what he didn’t much like.
Hehad decided—alone—hadn’t he?
“What did you decide, Bran?”
