“To beg your forgiveness,” he said earnestly. “To explain.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I should think that what I saw explained itself well enough.”
“It doesn’t.” His tone was pleading. “Bess, I need to speak with you. If you wish for me to beg, I will.”
“You are the one who has been leaving gifts for me these past few days, are you not?” she asked instead of answering him, still thinking about that half heart and wondering at its significance.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I know you didn’t want to see me, but I needed you to know I’ve been thinking of nothing and no one but you. I understand you are angry with me.”
“Furious with you,” she corrected.
And hurt. So desperately, badly hurt. But she kept that to herself.
“Furious,” he echoed, nodding. “Hate me if you must, but please at least grant me a few moments of your time. The chance to explain myself.”
Part of her was afraid that if she did allow him the opportunity to explain, he would charm her again. And inevitably hurt her again.
She couldn’t trust him.
Couldn’t trust herself around him.
“I think it would be best if you go,” she said hesitantly, with far less conviction than she would have preferred.
Torrie sank to his knees, holding her stare. “I’m begging you, Bess. I’ll stay here on my knees all bloody day if I must.”
She did not doubt him.
Elizabeth sighed, feeling weary and weak. “A few moments,” she relented. “No more, however.”
He nodded. “This is a conversation best had in privacy, Bess. May I come in?”
She should tell himno. She should ask him to go and never return. She already knew that her ability to resist her husband was woefully inept. What good could come of a private dialogue between themin a bedchamber?
She had caught him alone with another woman, and her heart was still pounding as fast as it ever had in his presence. But then, she had no wish to prolong this uncomfortable discussion. The sooner he said what he wanted, the sooner he would be on his way, and she would be alone again.
Why did that notion leave her feeling nothing but hollow bitterness inside?
Elizabeth took a step backward in retreat, still clutching the plate of chicken in one hand, allowing the door to open wider in reluctant welcome. “Come inside then if you must.”
He crossed the threshold in two long-limbed strides, crowding her with his presence, his nearness. Tempting her, too. She couldn’t lie. Every part of her still longed for this man. Likely, she would always yearn for him, even if her rational mind knew all the reasons why she must not.
She busied herself by hastening across the Aubusson to where Angel yet lounged on the bed, blissfully unaware of the turmoil surrounding her. Elizabeth held the plate of chicken to the cat for her to sniff, and when Angel decided she was indeed hungry for her feast, she slowly placed the saucer on the floor.
The feline leapt from her perch instantly, her tail curling around her as she turned her attention to decimating the chicken Torrie had brought.
“Lady Razor Claws was hungry,” he observed. “She said you ought to have realized she needed a chicken breakfast.”
He was being charming. Lighthearted. Picking up where they had left off.
She couldn’t bear it.
With a deep breath, she turned toward him. “Don’t. Please.”
He nodded, his expression darkening, growing serious. “Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to cause you further upset.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist in a defensive gesture, hugging herself. “Then why do you persist in sending me gifts and remaining here at Hamilton House if you don’t want to bring me further pain? Why come to my door this morning with chicken for Angel? Why send half a dozen gifts to my room?”
“Because I’m desperate for you to let me explain what you saw in my study.” He had followed her across the chamber, and he was standing alarmingly near to her now, close enough to touch. Close enough that his scent wrapped around her. Leather and bay and citrus and Torrie.
