“I care for you, Tom,” she said, knowing she could not deceive him about this, her feelings.
“But you do not love me.”
“I do not know that I even believe in love,” she said. “I have been truthful with you about that always. After this disastrous marriage, what am I left to believe? All I know of love is pain.”
He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “How familiar.”
“I am sorry,” she repeated. “It will not happen again.”
He looked crushed. And she had done that. She was the source of his pain—both his broken nose and heart.
“You need to think about what you want, Nell,” he said at last. “I have loved you for years. I am willing to wait for you, to fight for you, to weather scandal to have you at my side. But if you would rather remain at his, I need to know.”
“That is not what I want.” She reached for his hands, taking them in hers, wishing the touch of his skin upon hers gave her the same jolt of awareness Needham’s had. “I want to divorce him, and I want to be your wife. I want to be a mother.”
“Good.” His gaze searched hers. “If that is what you want, then come with me.”
His words left her feeling strangely hollow. Numb.
But this was what she was supposed to want, was it not? It was what she had been convinced she longed for.
“When?” she asked, wetting her suddenly dry lips.
“I will need some time to make arrangements. Three days, perhaps four.”
She had time then. Why did the knowledge feel so reassuring?
“Yes,” she agreed. “I will go with you, whenever you are ready for me. It is what we must do. I very much fear Needham will not release me from this marriage any other way.”
Tom raised each of her hands to his lips then. “I will send word. Wait for me. And if he tries to force you or coerce you, promise me you will leave.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
NELL WAS ONCEmore absent from dinner.
When Jack inquired with her lady’s maid, he was told that her ladyship was feeling bilious and requested a tray. But Jack was feeling rather bilious himself after allowing his wife time alone with Sidmouth earlier that day. And he was not inclined to allow her to continue hiding from him.
With that in mind, he rapped his knuckles sharply on the door joining their chambers. “Nell?”
“Go away, Needham.” Her voice was muffled, as if she were on the opposite end of the generously sized apartments.
The devil he would.
“Why were you not at dinner?” he asked, trying the door and finding it unlatched.
“My feet are too painful for me to move about too much.” A creak in the floorboards on the other side of the door belied her words.
“Then I shall come to you.”
“No.”
This was rather becoming a pattern between them.
“We need to speak,” he pointed out, attempting to appeal to her sense of reason. “I gave you the time you requested with Sidmouth earlier. The least you can do is return the favor and give me your ear.”
The door opened, revealing Nell in another dressing gown, this one pale-pink silk accented with blonde lace ruffles. Her hair was unbound around her shoulders, a riot of flaxen curls tumbling down her back.
She frowned at him. “Say whatever it is you wish to say, Needham. I am weary.”
