He offered her his arm, and she took it, swallowing down a rush of emotion. When she touched him, she felt none of the awareness that radiated through her whenever she was in Jack’s presence. None of the attraction, none of the spark. Part of her wished she could.
But now that she was with Tom again, it was painfully clear to her that what she felt for him paled in comparison to the love she carried in her heart and the powerful magnetism she had always felt for Jack. There was something undeniable between them. It always had been, and it always would be. It was bigger than the both of them. It transcended time, distance, betrayal.
Time without him had fooled her into believing she could settle for someone else and be happy. That was not true.
Tom led them into a small, blue salon he often used for intimate entertaining. Though she had been within these four walls on many occasions in the past, tonight was likely the last time she would ever be welcome here. The thought filled her not with sadness as she had suspected it might. Rather, it lifted a weight from her chest. It buoyed her. It felt right.
She was making the right decision with Tom.
But it would not be easy.
“Would you care to take a seat?” Tom asked her stiffly. “Shall I call for tea?”
“No,” she said again, releasing his arm and stepping away from him. “And no, thank you. I will not be remaining long. Please forgive me for appearing suddenly, but I had to see you as soon as I could.”
Tom inhaled sharply, then released his breath. “You have chosen Needham.”
It was a statement rather than a question.
He knew her well, Tom.
She bowed her head, feeling as if she had betrayed his love and his trust. She had never meant to do so, but she had. And as someone whose love and trust had also been betrayed once upon a time, she knew how badly it cut, how deep the resulting wound.
“I am sorry, Tom,” she said painfully, struggling to find the proper words when there were none. “I am still in love with my husband. I always have been. It would be unfair to you were I to continue, knowing I do not feel for you what I feel for him.”
A muscle ticked in Tom’s jaw. “Have you forgotten what he did to you, Nell? Have you forgotten that he took another woman to bed and then spent the last three years abandoning you? Did he tell you he was faithful to you during his sinner’s pilgrimage? Is that what this is about? Has he convinced you he has not once erred and bedded another strumpet in all the time he has been gone? How can you be so naïve, my love?”
She clasped her hands at her waist, bearing the brunt of his anger, his pain, as she knew was her duty. She had caused it all, though she very much wished she had not.
“I have not decided whether or not I shall proceed with the divorce,” she told him. “That remains to be seen. What I have realized, however, is that I cannot marry you. I care for you too much, Tom, to see you devote your life to a woman who cannot return your love. You deserve better than that. You deserve far better in a wife than a woman like me, who is desperately in love with another.”
“You are in love with a man who is not worthy of your love,” Tom bit out. “You do realize, do you not, that without me to aid your cause, it will be even more difficult for you to obtain a divorce? You do realize, do you not, that I have spent the last few years of my life devoted to you, showing you I am trustworthy, steadfast, and loyal, and that I love you more than any other man ever could, do you not?”
Tom was so rarely angry. He was calm and peaceful. His personality was pleasant, soothing even. This was a different side of him, one she had caused.
She flinched. “I do not come to you with this decision easily, Tom. And I am grateful for your constancy in the last few years. You have been a source of comfort and joy, always. I am forever in your debt for what you have done for me. But surely you see the injustice of proceeding. I would mire you in scandal, ruin your reputation, and I would… I would not love you. Not in the way I love my husband.”
“Your husband is a philandering scoundrel,” Tom snapped. “A drunken waste of flesh. He does not deserve you or your love. He has done nothing to earn it. Who has been at your side, steadfast?”
“You,” she answered without hesitation, “and I am grateful to you, Tom. I care for you. I am thankful to you for your companionship and caring. But I cannot love you. I do not love you. I cannot be your wife.”
Tom’s nostrils flared. His nose was still swollen, but the bruising had faded. Yet another sin to lay at her feet—the broken nose he had suffered because of her.
“You can be my wife, Nell. The choice is yours,” he persisted. “I have always promised you that I will aid you in this. I do not give a damn about scandal. All I care about is you. You are all I have ever wanted. I wanted you before he met you. I wanted you before you ever married him. I loved you even then.”
She closed her eyes against the sight of his anguish. How she hated causing him pain. He was fighting for her, and it was futile. He loved her, and she did not love him. How wrong she had been to ever suppose she could be happy as his wife.
“I do not know what else to say, Tom.” She paused, weighing her next words with care. “I have always cared for you. You know that. I thought I could be happy as your wife, but—”
“But then he returned,” Tom interrupted, sneering. “I was only good enough when he was not here to challenge me.”
What could she say to that?
“You deserve happiness and love, Tom,” she said quietly. “I cannot give you either of those things. I am sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I am freeing you now. Before it is too late for you.”
Because it was already too late forher. She was doomed to forever love a man she could not trust. A man who had betrayed their marriage. A man she had witnessed kissing another woman in his bed.
In the bed she had just departed that morning.
