Jack.
He scooped it up and unfolded it in one fluid motion, desperate for the words within. Hoping for answers.
Jack,
I am returning to London. I beg your forgiveness for foregoing the fortnight I promised you. I cannot think with you in residence. Therefore, I am returning to a place where I may have a clear head to make my decision. Pray do not follow me. I need to make this choice on my own.
Yours,
N.
The letter left him with more questions than answers. He crumpled it in his fist unthinkingly.
To hell with her request not to follow her. What did she expect, that he would sit about and calmly wait for Sidmouth to take his woman from him? The devil he would. Nell was his wife, and he meant to fight for her. To keep her.
To love her forever.
She would make the decision. The only decision. The only choice there was—their marriage, their love. Did he not see how desperately and completely his heart was hers, forever?
Still gripping the letter, he stalked back into his chamber to find Denning awaiting him with a solemn countenance.
“There was no note, my lord,” he said.
“I found the damned note myself,” he growled. “We are returning to London at once, Denning. See everything prepared if you please.”
Denning frowned. “A shave, my lord? Breakfast?”
He shook his head. “I will not be requiring anything but a carriage. I need to be in London as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” agreed his faithful valet with a bow. “I shall see to it at once, my lord.”
“Thank you,” he managed.
The note in his hand seemed to scorch his flesh. But the pain in his heart was far worse. He could not bear to believe he was losing her. That she had actually abandoned him after last night. They had been closer than they had ever been. She had spent the entire night in his arms.
And then she had risen in the morning and skulked out of his chamber like a thief filching the family silver, taking his heart with her.
Still, he had to believe they had a chance. Her every reaction to him since his return had given him hope. This latest retreat was a sign, he prayed, that her resistance to him was growing thin.
He told himself that, and then he began to dress for his journey.
NELL ARRIVED ATTom’s townhouse immediately following her arrival in London. She sent her lady’s maid on to her townhouse with her belongings. This was one interview she needed to conduct on her own. In truth, it was an interview she did not even begin to know how to proceed with.
How did she tell the man who had worshiped her for the last few years that it was over? That she was still in love with her husband and always would be? That she could not, in good conscience, marry him after all?
She had passed much of the journey deep within her own thoughts, imagining all the ways in which she might proceed. But she remained as ill-prepared as ever. Ever since Jack’s return, she had convinced herself this day would never come to pass.
Nervously, she awaited him in his front hall whilst his butler announced her. She was a common visitor here to his townhouse. Their relationship, such as it was, had not been secretive. Though they had not shared beds, she had played the hostess for him on many occasions amongst their set. In so many ways, his house was as familiar to her as Needham’s.
The footsteps returning to her now, echoing in the marble front hall, were not the butler’s. Tom appeared before her, his handsome face a mask of concern.
“Nell.” A deep vee of worry furrowed his brow. “The fortnight is not yet over. What has happened? Has Needham…”
She shook her head, feeling miserable. She knew what he was asking. Had Jack forced her? Of course he had not. Everything she had done with him—every kiss, every touch, each time they had made love—she had been perfectly willing.
“No, Tom,” she said quietly.
He searched her countenance and then gave a nod, his jaw tensing. “Come then, let us go somewhere more private where we can speak.”
