Neither was true.
She was all too human, all too real.
As he neared her, he realized she seemed to be poring over something in her lap.
“Nellie,” he said softly, hating the way she stiffened at his voice.
She cast him a frigid look over her shoulder. “Why are you here, Jack?”
He settled down beside her, taking note of the book cracked open in her skirts. “I was worried about you. You have been gone for hours.”
She sighed. “Intentionally. I want to be alone.”
It seemed he was forever chasing her, at a bitter stalemate. Would he ever catch her, hold her, keep her?
“Do you despise me that much, Nellie?” he asked, holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
She took her time, averting her gaze toward the stream.
“I despise what you did,” she said at last.
“On that, we are in agreement,” he said softly.
One night had been all it took to ruin his marriage and destroy his life. One moment.
She glanced at him, her expression hardening. “You are admitting it now?”
He met her gaze, unflinching. “I am admitting the truth, as I always have. I was soused. Lady Billingsley came to the wrong bed. I thought she was you. I kissed her. I never bedded her.”
“Even if what you say is the truth, I saw you kissing her, Jack. How could you mistake her for me?” There was such anguish in her face, and he hated himself for being the one who had put it there.
For being responsible for her pain.
For being the one who had torn them apart.
“There is no excuse, Nellie. I was a drunken fool. Stupid and reckless and selfish.” He had learned a great deal about himself in the last three years. He could own his sins. “I wish to God that night never happened, that I never hurt you.”
“Why did you devote it to me?” she asked suddenly.
Her question threw him. He frowned, trying to make sense of it. “Pardon?”
“Your book.” She held up the volume abandoned in her lap, and recognition slid over him. “Why did you devote it to me?”
She must be speaking of one of his travel memoirs. But he had dedicated each volume to her, which meant she had only read one thus far.
“Penance,” he said truthfully. “And love.”
Her lush lips tightened. “It is an excellent account.”
Her praise sounded reluctant. He could not help but to smile despite the seriousness of the moment. “You are surprised? Mayhap you hoped it would be drivel or dry as dust?”
“No.” She shook her head, her expression turning mournful. “You have always been dreadfully adept at anything you try, Jack. I am not surprised in the least that your travel books were so well-received.”
“Not adept at everything,” he said carefully, studying her. “I have yet to win back my wife, for instance.”
“That is an impossibility anyway.” Her chin went up.
“Is it?” He covered her hand with his. “Leave a man his hope, will you not?”
