“I cannot forgive him for what he has done. Nor can I bind myself to him forever. We would never suit.”
“Give yourself some time to contemplate the matter,” Pamela advised. “I’d wager you will change your mind.”
“Never,” Virtue vowed firmly.
But no one knew better than Pamela thatneverandforeverwere two states always destined to be broken. Much like a heart.
* * *
Pamela returnedfrom the Searle ball well after midnight, weary but hopeful that Theo would come to her.
He hadn’t been awaiting her arrival in the entry hall.
Her faithful lady’s maid helped her to disrobe and remove all her jewelry from the evening, returning the sapphire parure Bertie had given her early in their marriage—one of few gifts he had ever bestowed upon her, and the only one she had remaining—to its case. Everything was in its place, her hair down and brushed, and her lady’s maid had taken her leave.
All was silent.
Almost eerily so.
After the evening’s crush, her ears filled with the nebulous chatter of a hundred lords and ladies, the hush in her lonely chamber seemed to mock her. Oh, she had distracted herself as best as she had been able, fretting over Lady Virtue who had been unusually sullen and solemn given the events of earlier in the day and the impending nuptials she refused to acknowledge. But now, she was alone.
He wasn’t going to come to her.
She told herself it didn’t matter. Hadn’t she convinced herself earlier when she had been speaking with Lady Virtue about the inevitability of her marriage to Ridgely that there was no future between herself and Theo? And hadn’t he made it staggeringly clear to her that he wasn’t willing to be the sort of man she needed in her life?
Well, perhaps she ought to have listened.
Because here it was, half past one, and she was staring at herself in the looking glass, scarcely recognizing the woman staring back at her. Tonight, she had worn Bertie’s jewels at her throat and ears. But she had taken another man as a lover. A man who—she could not deny it—had made her feel again. Had made her live again.
Had made her love again.
The barest hint of a tap at her door reached her then, and her heart—her stupid, aching, longing heart—leapt at the sound. And she likewise jumped to her feet, crossing the room faster than she ever had. She drew back the latch and pulled open the door, and Theo crossed the threshold, his cool gaze filled with intensity, his countenance unusually unguarded.
There was something in his expression—turmoil, she thought, his jaw rigid, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen upon his shoulders. She’d never seen him so vulnerable, not even in the throes of passion when they made love. Pamela was scarcely aware of the door closing as she opened her arms to him.
He stepped into them, holding her tightly, burying his face in her hair.
“What is it?” she asked him softly. “Is something amiss?”
He inhaled sharply, as if breathing in her scent, and said nothing for a few moments. “How was your ball?”
Not an answer to her questions. Had she truly expected him to respond, revealing all? But then, it was sufficient that he had come to her. She knew she ought not to expect more. He had warned her against it, after all.
“Tiring,” Pamela said.
She stroked up and down his back in soothing motions she sensed he needed, her hands gliding over the hard planes of his shoulders, the lean slabs of muscle below. His familiar scent mingled with the fresh, clean scents of rain and the outside air. She wondered if he had been in the gardens.
“Did you dance?” His voice was a low rumble.
“I didn’t,” she admitted.
“You should have.”
“Why?” She tilted her head back, seeking his stare, searching. “There is only one man I wish to dance with.”
He flashed her a charming and rare half smile. “A fortunate man indeed. Perhaps you can settle for me instead.”
“I was speaking of you.”
