“No,” he replied. “I shall not shoot him now. Love makes a fool of any man.”
She blanched and looked away from him.
Yes, love did make a man a fool. Even after the last several days of misery, it ripped at his heart anew to see her so wretched. He didn’t want her to leave; he could never want that. Now he knew why he hadn’t been able to leave Chelsea, even after she’d told him it was over. He’d been waiting for this. “Is that all you came to say to me?”
Gaze fixed out the window, she gave a slight nod. “I will not ask your forgiveness, because what I did should not be forgiven. You did not deserve anything I said to you. Nothing that happened was your fault.”
“It appears to me,” he said slowly, trying not to misstep, “that what happened was not your fault, either.” She swung around, primed to argue, and he held up one hand. “The young lady was elated to be pursued so ardently by the man she loved. The gentleman was so mad for her that he acted rashly. Neither was in their right mind. If not at that ball, they would have found other opportunities to be... indiscreet. Any chaperone can be thwarted, where the desire to do so is that powerful.”
She shuddered, looking away.
“Why do you blame yourself?” he asked quietly.
Again she stared out the window for a long moment. Then she turned toward him, without meeting his gaze. “Yes, what you say it true. I know it is, because I thwarted my parents’ watchful eyes many times.” She wrung the reticule in her hands. “That does not change the fact that I was meant to keep her from trouble, and I failed. Perhaps it is even worse because I knew very well that girls in love will do stupid, reckless things, and men in the grip of desire will entice them into every sort of sin. I, of all people, should have been more on guard against it. To my immense relief, it appears Joan shall not pay a terrible price.”
“As you did,” he murmured.
She looked at him, her face stark and drawn. “You cannot know... No man can. To be handed to a man, a stranger, against your will, and be told that you—and everything that you think of as yours, including your own body—belongs to him. To know that he can beat you, starve you, lock you away from the world, and no one will stop him. To be held responsible for actions you are helpless to prevent, and then to be blamed for a man’s terrible behavior.”
“I’m glad your husbands are dead,” he said in a low voice. “They deserved to die.”
Her chin quivered. “I love you, Richard. I have loved you for years, more than I ever thought possible. But marriage has never meant anythinggoodto me.”
Slowly he nodded, finally understanding. “I frightened you.”
“No. That is, it wasn’tyouthat frightened me—never. It was...” She looked at him, as lost as a child.
Richard had never spent much time thinking about Cunningham or Courtenay. They were both dead, and good riddance. Evangeline almost never spoke of them. Today, though, right now, he felt a surge of hatred for those cruel, arrogant men who had hurt this incomparable woman. “I understand.”
She took a deep breath. “You asked me to think about it, and I couldn’t bear to. Yet after I sent you away, I could think of nothing else. Even when I knew I’d wrecked any chance of it, I thought of what I had thrown away, and despite my fears and worries, I felt a terrible loss.” She put out her hand, which trembled. “You are the center of my happiness. If you still want me, the answer to your question is yes.”
He felt lightheaded with shock. God, he’d forgotten to breathe. He took her hand and drew her to him, gently, because she looked as if she might break. When he folded his arms gingerly around her, a shiver went through her before she relaxed against him.
“No,” he said softly. “I withdraw my request that you consider marriage.”
She tensed.
“It was the wrong thing to ask,” he went on, stroking her back in light, lazy circles, which always made her soft and relaxed. “As it turns out, it was not actually marriage I wanted. What I wanted was to be with you, openly and proudly. Marriage wasonly the first means that came to mind. But on reconsideration, I do not think it will do after all.”
She hadn’t moved a muscle. “What, then?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
“Marriage would make you my property, which I do not want. Marriage would give me all that is yours, which I do not want.” He shifted, settling her against him better. She fit so perfectly in his arms. “I was thinking of visiting Zürich again. Come with me. I would like to show you my home, where the air is clean and free of ugly gossip. You can be anything you like there.”
“You want me to go with you?”
He smiled down at her. “Wherever I go, I want you with me. Yes.”
“But without marriage.” She sounded shocked.
Richard took a deep breath and exhaled. “You do not wish to be married. I do not wish to do anything that frightens you. We could be married in our hearts, without setting foot in a church, and that would be enough for me.”
“But . . . you would have no rights . . .”
He shrugged. “I never wanted any right to control you. I don’t want your money, your property... certainly not Prince Louis, who would never consent to be mine! All I want is your company and your love, and no priest is necessary to bless that desire.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Everyone will know, when they hear my name...”
He smiled ruefully. “My darling, men change their names all the time. Generally to commit an intrigue or to escape the consequences of an intrigue, but they do it. Why shouldn’t a woman be permitted the same license?” He pulled a face. “You have been Lady Courtenay for too long. I am thoroughly tired of calling you by that faithless swine’s name, as if you were still his.”
