‘Not by my choice or design, but by his own.’
‘Tell me, Grace. I will not be angry. I will accept it. Is Caville Sharp your lover?’
‘My lover?’ gasped Grace. ‘Rawden, do not be ridiculous.’
‘Oh, so I am ridiculous now. Am I also a cuckold?’
‘Of course, not. How can you have such a low opinion of me? I rushed home to find you today because I missed you. I was worried about you last night when you did not come home.’
‘Rushed home from where? As I have it, you took a carriage without telling the servants where you were going. Was it to him?’
‘No. I went to see Romola Bianchi because you also have your secrets, Rawden.’
Rawden’s whole world tumbled and fell. Grace did not trust him. She had gone to Romola to get the truth, for she had not felt able to ask him outright, even after all they had shared - their past, their hopes and fears, their bodies. It all meant nothing.
‘I have broken with Romola. There is nothing between us now, but decency compelled me to help her,’ he said, and even to his own ears, it felt like a paltry excuse.
‘Decency, is it? Yet you have been to see her these past weeks when I was left alone at Marshgrave,’ said Grace, her face twisting in anguish.
He took a deep breath. He had spent the night wracked with jealousy at the image of Grace and Sharp, hand in hand. And yet Grace had plenty to be jealous about, too.
‘You lied to me, Rawden,’ continued Grace. ‘I never lied to you about anything.’
‘No. You have it all wrong. I did see Romola out of old loyalties, but I said nothing in order to spare your feelings. I could not have you thinking ill of me.’
‘No, you are beyond reproach, while I am accused of all kinds of villainy.’
‘Grace, forgive me the secrecy. I have seen her, but it was to save her from herself. She was in dire straits and begged for my assistance. I only went because she tried to harm herself. There is nothing more to it. You have to believe me.’
‘I do, Rawden because she told me as much from her own lips and I believe her. Yet you cannot believe me when I say there is nothing between me and Caville, nor has there ever been.’
‘That is a different matter entirely. He put his hands on you. That wretch was with you when I first met you at your uncle’s house. He visited whilst you were at the Routledges, that time when you were seeking sanctuary from me. And last night, to see you with him was unbearable.’
‘So all this jealousy and suspicion has been there from the moment we met. Rawden. You have harboured this bitterness in your breast the whole time we have been married - while you left me at Marshgrave alone, while you came to my bed, while we lay together as man and wife. Good heavens, Rawden, I trusted your word, but you never trust mine.’
‘Grace, stop.’
‘How can you have such a low opinion of me when I was always forgiving your shortcomings of tenderness, kindness and honesty? All I get for my loyalty is jealousy and a rough affection whenever you feel like it.’
‘I said stop talking,’ he howled.
But Grace could not. ‘I get no trust, honesty, or love, not that I expected or demanded it. In fact, I ask nothing from you, and that is precisely what I get.’
‘I said, be silent,’ bellowed Rawden, and she must have tasted his anger, for she said nothing more. The horror and disgust on her face confirmed his worst fears – that she thought him an animal, that she was afraid of him and worst of all, that he was not worthy of her. It was a charge he had levelled at himself repeatedly since their first meeting at the rout – Grace, so enchantingly fresh and unspoiled, and he, so world-weary, cynical and corrupted.
Rawden clawed his fingers into his hair, his breath tightening. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, planted his feet and squared his shoulders. He spoke as gently as he could. ‘You misunderstand me at every turn, Grace. How can I not be jealous to see you with another man when I am fast in love with you, though I am sure to be damned for it?’
Her lovely, gentle eyes grew round, and her mouth fell open. Rawden longed to kiss her in the silence that followed instead of standing before Grace to face her scorn, like an impotent fool.
‘What did you say, Rawden?’ she gasped.
‘I said that I love you.’ He pulled at his fingers in frustration. ‘There. It is out, and you may do with those words what you will - rejoice in your victory, sneer at my weakness.’
‘You love me, Rawden? You will own to it?’ Grace’s voice was a whisper, but he detected no triumph there, only uncertainty.
‘Yes, of course I love you, but it is a kind of torture, a feeling I would rather banish because it blights my life.’
‘Why? Because I am beneath you in wealth, status and accomplishments? You are ashamed of the poor woman with loose morals you were forced to marry out of duty. That is what you think of me, isn’t it?’
