But she would be damned before she would admit as much to the scoundrel. “Tom knows me better than I know myself. He is all I ever hoped to find in a husband.”
Lies.
In truth, everything she had ever hoped to find in a husband was Needham.Jack.Until he had betrayed her and ruined her world. But like so many other truths, she would never admit as much to him. He already had too much power over her. More than he supposed. Time, distance, and anguish had not dissipated the way she felt for him, much to her dismay.
She doubted it ever could, and his return had only underscored that pathetic truth.
“Pity I am your husband, then.” Needham’s voice was frigid. Angry, too.
She met his gaze, unflinching. “For now.”
His expression shuttered. “Sooner or later, you must cease persisting in this foolish belief you can put an end to our union.”
Extricating herself from their marriage was not impossible. Nor was it a foolish notion. If she believed that, all hope was lost. He was right that he had more power in the matter than she did. Divorce law, by nature, favored the man. But in the last few months, there had been one fact which had given her solace: that she might free herself from this untenable marriage and start anew.
She still wanted her chance at happiness. She still wanted to be a mother.
Tom could give her that.
Needham could only give her more misery, even if he could give her a child.
“It is not a foolish belief,” she defended, attempting to remain calm. “Why should you want to remain married to a woman who despises you, Needham? Your perversity defies logic.”
“Do you truly despise me?” His half grin returned. “I think not, darling.”
She did despise him—or rather, what he had done. To her. To them.
Her fingernails dug into her palms. “I do.”
“Hmm.” He looked away from her then, turning his gaze out the window at the slowly passing scenery.
His noncommittal response nettled her. She had no doubt that was what he had intended. She stewed in silence for an interminable span of time, the only sound between them the sounds of the carriage rumbling over the road. She told herself not to engage in further dialogue. Told herself that silence was far preferable to enduring more of their bickering and his infuriating insistence she would not have her divorce as she had been happily convinced—even yesterday morning—she would.
But his disinterest troubled her more than his intense regard did. More even than his continued arguments and assertions she would never be free of him. Because she knew him well enough—or at least shethoughtshe knew him well enough—to know his silence meant he was quietly plotting.
And that irked her.
Set her on edge.
She tapped her foot on the floor of the carriage. Sighed. Bit her lip.
He turned back to her, his gaze as intense as ever in the fading light of the summer day. “What is it, Nell?”
How had he known?
“You are not as much a mystery as you would like to believe,” he added, his tone smug. “Not to me. You are fidgeting and sighing, just as you always do when you have something to say but are attempting to hold your tongue.”
“Do not do that,” she bit out before she could think better of her words.
They said too much. Revealed too much.
“Do not do what?” he returned, still calm, still measured.
Was this all a game to him? Was that all it had ever been?
“Do not continue to pretend as if you know me,” she elaborated coldly. “I have told you already, I am not the woman you left behind. There is no resemblance between that naïve girl and the woman you see before you now.”
That, too, was a lie.Good God, she was just as deceptive as he was.
