Why did he have to know her so well, the blighter?
She turned her attention back to the ducks, who had nearly finished their corn. “Of course not.”
He stopped at her side, so near their elbows almost brushed, and the warm day was suddenly hotter. “How are your blisters this morning?”
“Healing,” she said, taking another handful of corn and tossing it as another duck couple joined the first.
“And your sunburn?”
His query had her thinking about the way he had tended to her last night. He had applied his aloe cream to her face with gentle care, checked her blistered feet, and then he had given her a kiss on her cheek and left.
“It is feeling better today, thank you.” She cast him a glance. “It was kind of you to fret over me.”
His regard was warmer than the rays of the sun. “You are my wife, Nellie. It is my duty to fret over you.”
He had told her he loved her yesterday. Twice.
She did not dare believe him. If he had loved her, he never would have kissed Lady Billingsley, no matter how deep in his cups. He never would have had her in his bed. Nor would he have left to travel the world for three blasted years.
“I will not be your wife for long,” she reminded him as much as she reminded herself.
His smile faded. “Stubborn as ever.”
“Determined.” She glanced back to the ducks. The swans were swimming from the other end of the lake, taking their time.
“Why?” His soft question had her turning toward him once more. “Do you not think of how good we were together?”
“Until that night,” she said pointedly. “Until I discovered who you truly are.”
“Did you, though, Nellie?” He cocked his head, considering her. “Truly?”
Irritation rose within her. He had no right to return and make her question her decision. “Of course I did. Do not think tending to my blistered feet will banish the memory of that night. Nothing has changed.”
“I have changed. I am not the same reckless drunkard I once was.” His expression, like his voice, was serious. Intense. “Having spent the last three years without you, I appreciate you in a way I did not before.”
She could not deny that he was different. He was more somber than he had once been. She had not seen him drink a drop of liquor. However, that did not abate his culpability either.
“It is too late, Jack.”
“It is never too late,” he countered. “You are still my wife, and I am still your husband.”
Agony sliced through her. Because part of her wanted to forget what had happened three years ago. Part of her wanted to believe he had changed for the better and that she could trust him, that what they had once shared had not been a lie. But she could not go through that much pain again.
She could not afford to believe in him. The first time had nearly proved her ruin.
She tore her gaze from him, looking back to the ducks. “In name only.”
Nell reached into her basket for more corn, then scattered it pell-mell in the grass.
“That, too, can be changed.” His low voice sent a frisson down her spine.
The sensual promise could not be ignored. Nor could her traitorous body’s reaction to him. She could not keep the memories of the passion they had once shared locked away any more than she could cease breathing.
She steeled herself against it, against her reaction to him. “No, it cannot. I am marrying Tom.”
“Have my children.”
His words sent a jolt straight through her. Had she not hooked the handle of the basket over her arm, she would have dropped it.
