It was not enough time.
And while she had spent every moment since falling in love with him with that horrible knowledge impinging upon her happiness, it had never felt as final or as real as it did now, as she lay in her bed, the new life they had created together growing inside her.
The door to the chamber opened, but she kept her eyes closed. She already knew who had entered without bothering to look, for she had become so attuned to her husband, she recognized the sound of his prowling walk. The bed dipped as he sat upon the edge.
“Catriona,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
Hot tears scalded her eyes, sliding from beneath her lowered lashes. Still, she would not obey. Nor would she speak. She did not think herself capable of it in this moment.
“Dr. Sheffield has told me,” he said at last, his accent more pronounced, his voice deeper, darker.
Even his beloved, familiar scent seemed to take on a new note with her eyes closed. Her every sense was painfully heightened, her heart a painful danger she had worn on her sleeve for far too long. Always, always belonging to him.
And never, ever had he given himself in return.
“I suppose you are happy,” she managed to whisper. “You have what you wanted.”
“Sí.”
She inhaled sharply at his acknowledgment, for it cut her as surely as any blade. “When will you go?”
“Dr. Sheffield says you must rest for a day or so to make certain all is well with the babe after your fall,” he told her. “I will begin the preparations for our return to London.”
“London,” she repeated, her lips feeling numb. She opened her eyes at last, unashamed of her tears. They tracked down her cheeks. “Why London?”
“I will not have you alone here. My sister and your mother will attend you for your lying in, and you must be wherever they are.” His dark gaze burned into hers, a frown on his beautiful lips. “Why tears,querida? Are you ill? Is it the babe?”
Tears because you are leaving me, you foolish man.
Tears because I love you, and you will never love me in return.
“It has been a trying day,” she lied. “I am emotional and tired. I wish to rest.”
“Are you certain you are well? The doctor assures me you are in fine health, but you must promise to tell me, Catriona, if anything is amiss,” he pressed.
How tender he was. How caring.
But of course, none of it was for her.
“When are you leaving for Spain?” she asked.
He clenched his jaw. “I will see you settled in London, and then I will leave. You will send word to me upon the birth, and if the child is not a boy, I will return if I am able.”
There it was, the blow she had been anticipating. The final confirmation of all her fears. How could she have forgotten she was nothing more than a broodmare to him?
“Of course,” she managed to say, though her heart was breaking.
It felt as if a dagger had been lodged in her chest. And it was—a dagger of her own making.
“Querida,” he began.
But she could not bear to hear another word from him. “I do not wish to talk more now, if you please. I am tired, and I must rest.”
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I will have your woman attend you.”
“No,” she said. For as much as she enjoyed the company of her lady’s maid, she could not bear it now.
All she wanted was to be alone.
