“It hurts.” Emily’s whisper barely disturbed the air.
“I know, darling.”
“Will it always hurt this much?”
Louise couldn’t answer. The hollow ache in her chest suggested yes, it would always hurt exactly this much. Maybe more. Maybe until it killed them both, slowly, quietly, one disappeared day at a time.
But she held Emily tighter and lied one more time.
“No, sweetheart. It gets better.”
Emily nodded against her, pretending to believe it.
They stood there watching nothing, two hearts breaking in perfect synchronization, while somewhere across London, Aaron probably stood at his own window, completing their triangle of misery with geometric precision.
Tomorrow, Lady Merrow would return with Buttercup.
Tomorrow, they would survive another visit.
Tomorrow, the torture would continue.
Louise wasn’t certain which would be worse. When the visits stopped, or if they never did.
CHAPTER 34
“Good God, you look like death.”
Ernest stood in the study doorway, immaculate in a dove gray morning coat, his expression cycling through shock, concern, and irritation in rapid succession.
“How did you get in?” Aaron didn’t bother turning from his contemplation of the empty crystal.
“Your butler let me in. After I convinced him I wasn’t here to rob the silver.” Ernest closed the door behind him with deliberate care. “Thornton seems to think you’ve given orders not to be disturbed. By anyone. Ever.”
“Perceptive man, Thornton.”
Ernest crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by a Persian carpet that had probably cost more than most men earned in a lifetime. Wasteful. Everything in this room was wasteful.Precious objects accumulated by generations of dukes who thought possession meant something.
“When did you last eat?” Ernest lifted the empty decanter, frowning at its weight. Or lack thereof.
“Tuesday.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Then Wednesday.” Aaron finally turned from the window where he’d been watching nothing happen in the garden for the past hour. Or possibly three. Time had become negotiable.
Ernest’s expression shifted to genuine alarm. “Christ, Aaron. You look like you’ve been sleeping in your clothes.”
“That would require sleeping.”
His friend settled into the chair across from Aaron’s desk, a deliberate invasion of space that would have irritated him if he could have summoned the energy for irritation.
“The Densham ball was two nights ago. You were expected.”
“Was I?” Aaron found his glass, remembered it was empty, and set it down again. “How disappointing for them.”
“The entire ton is talking about your absence. And about the Burrows family’s return to Sulton House.”
Louise’s name hit him like a physical blow. Aaron’s fingers clenched involuntarily, knuckles white against dark wood.
