“You could have done better for her,” he reminded her. “You chose this path.”
Their argument seemed unending. He was not entirely wrong, and neither was she wholly right. Julianna knew that.
Still, she defended herself. “I chose the only path available to me at the time.”
Slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers, he skirted the chair. “Wrong, Julianna. You chose the path that suited you. You told me yourself before you left that you were young and undecided. You wanted to experience life. Take lovers.”
He bit out the last word as if it left a terrible taste in his mouth.
She hoped it did.
She had told him that, to spite him. Attempting to hurt him as he had wounded her.
Julianna eyed him, hoping he would not come any closer. This proximity alone was stifling. Tempting, too.God, his scent washed over her. And memories. So many painful, wonderful memories.
“I do not want to speak of the past,” she told him coolly. “What happened two years ago cannot be changed or undone. We must look to the future.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” He reached out then, his fingers grasping her chin. “We will be married. That is the future,chérie.”
She wished his touch on her chin was not so tender. That it did not spark an answering ache deep within her. But it was and it did.
Still, she would not retreat for fear it would show her weakness. She had to be strong. Shewasstrong.
“If I agree,” she reminded him.
“You will agree.” He caressed her cheek, the pad of his thumb running slowly over the ridge of her bone structure. “Will you not?”
Yes, she would.
Because what other choice had she? He was the devil she knew, the devil she had chosen.
“Why so soon?” she asked instead of offering him her immediate surrender.
He skirted the chair, forcing her to face him. There was no barrier between them now. The air in the chamber felt strangely thick.
Awareness crept over her.
Familiarity, too. The time they had spent together over the last week had somehow worn down all her defenses.
“Did you intend to linger in this purgatory forever?” His question was calm, his tone perfectly polite. But there was an edge. An undercurrent.
“Purgatory,” she repeated before she could think better of her response. “Is that what you think this is?”
Because to her, it was the sheerest form of hell.
Torture, on the cusp of marrying the man she loved. The man who had never loved her in return. Trying desperately to formulate a plan that would enable her to escape him with his blessing.
His jaw tensed. “Yes. That is what I think it is. If I had kept the knowledge of our daughter from you for the last two years, I cannot help but to think you would feel the same. I am weary of being kept apart from her. I want my daughter under my roof where she belongs, and to accomplish that feat, we need to wed. In private and with all haste, thanks to your lies.”
The reminder of her own omissions made her bite her lip. Her sins and his were matched, as far as she was concerned. How she wished she might take a step in retreat, put some distance between them. His proximity was doing things to her senses. Turning her insides to aspic.
Weakening her resolve, and she could not allow that to happen.
“Are you certain your plan to suggest we married in New York City will fool everyone?” she asked.
“We have been over this before, Julianna.” His tone was cool. Dismissive.
“Yes, we have, and yet you failed to confirm you had ever been to New York City in the last two years,” she pointed out.
