Suddenly, the answer was clear—no. He did not need a bloodline to prove his worth. Only his actions could make him the kind of man he wished to be.
“No,” he answered.
His mother exhaled, clearly relieved. He turned his full attention to her.
“You love Blackwood, don’t you?” he asked. “You called him Warren.”
“Yes.” Her eyes grew watery. “Oh, yes. I would have risked losing you for nothing less than love.”
He nodded and placed his hand over hers. “I hope we can begin again, Mrs. Blackwood.”
She kept her lips pressed together until she mastered her tears. “Warren always said you would come around.” She kissed him on both cheeks. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Now,” she sniffed, “what do we do about this lady of yours?”
“I want to prove to her I’ve changed. I want to prove to her I love her, and I will never hurt her again,” he said. “I just do not know how.”
“Love exists in order to work miracles,” she replied, cradling his face. “Never give up hope.”
Chapter Fifteen
The friendship which had begun with a not-quite-by-chance encounter in a modiste’s shop had quickly deepened. First, there had been the irrepressible giggles at the play no one else in the audience seemed to enjoy. Then came the dressing room consultations—always gravely significant between ladies of like mind. And sometime between the balls and the ices and the long afternoon they all got hopelessly lost in the Hampton maze, Katherine found herself confiding the secret everyone in London already knew, but no one would acknowledge—the Marquess of Bromton and his new bride had not spoken for days.
Although, she did not betray Bromton’s confidence, she did explain that she’d been won in a bet, wooed under false pretense, and, somehow, in the midst of this whirlwind courtship, she had fallen in love.
“And he told you he loved you, too?” Katerina asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
Philippa clucked. “Then why has he disappeared?”
“I don’tknowwhy he disappeared,” she replied. Which wasn’t completely honest. He’d told her he could never be worthy. He’d told her that he must release her in order to save her. But his logic made no sense. “I keep reliving our last afternoon together, searching for something I could have said or done that would have kept him from leaving.”
She unstrung every moment in her heart, from the slow removal of her glove to his frenzied climax to the moment he’d locked the door. One image stood out from the rest—the agonized look he’d cast over his shoulder, while his white knuckles had gripped the frame of the door. A look of pleading. A look of despair.
She could think of nothing that could staunch that kind of guilt.
Only he could choose to fight, to change, to win.
Clarissa’s foot tapping abruptly stopped. “We are asking Katherine the wrong question.”
“What question should we ask?” Katerina supplied.
“Katherine,” Clarissa said, “do you want Lord Bromton back?”
Yes. Her heart’s answer was immediate. Visceral. If he returned—preferably on his knees—she would make every effort to find and restore the magic they’d shared.
“I never expected to regain my place in Society,” she answered slowly. “With your help, I’ve exceeded my most hopeful expectations.”
“But you don’t look at all happy,” Philippa replied.
“I know,” Katherine swallowed. “It’s just not…” She swallowed again. “I wish…”
Clarissa’s expression grew soft. “It’s not a triumph without Bromton.”
Katherine nodded.
Katerina looked away, her eyes overbright.
“I believe you have your answer,” Clarissa replied. “Love.” She shrugged as if to say,There’s nothing you can do about the infirmity.
