The silence was exquisite, like the moment just before a string snapped. “Yes,” he said after a time. “I did.”
She could have screamed, or sobbed, or fled the room. Instead, she did what she always did: she stood her ground. “Why?”
He shook his head, as if the answer itself were too large to fit in his skull. “I do not know. At first, I convinced myself it was duty. Or pity. Or the desire to see you free of men like Dawnford.” He looked up at her, the mask gone, and the honesty in his face was almost unbearable. “But none of those are true. It was because I could not bear to imagine a world in which you did not exist, and did not look at me the way you do now: as if I am at once the only man in the world, and the last one you would ever choose.”
She closed her eyes.He is lying. He must be lying. Or worse, he is telling the truth, and you will never recover from it.
“You are being cruel,” she managed.
He was already reaching for her shoulder. “You mistake me, Lady Lavinia. I have no talent for cruelty. Only for cowardice. I let you believe that I was made of stone, because I could not endure the risk of caring again.”
She laughed, but it was not a nice sound. “You could have simply told me you were incapable of love, and saved us both the trouble.”
He dropped his hand. “I am not incapable of love.”
“Then prove it.”
He stilled, as if stunned. Then, “How?”
She squared her shoulders, every inch of her bristling. “By telling me the truth. The whole of it. Why did you truly never marry again? Why did you swear off every woman in England and condemn yourself to loneliness, just to spite your father’s memory?”
He faltered. Then, with the air of a man flaying himself alive, he said, “It is as I told you before, Lavinia. Because I married the wrong person, once. Because it killed her. And because I did not want to take the risk that I might do it again.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness of it. “You did not kill your wife, Tristan. She died in a carriage accident. The world is filled with such accidents. They are not curses, nor are they punishments.”
He looked away, his throat working as he swallowed. “You do not know that. You did not see the joy on her face the night before she left, or the way the house grew colder with every year until there was nothing left in it at all.” He breathed out. “I have never told anyone that.”
She stepped back, needing space, needing the air. “So, you doomed yourself to be alone, forever, just because you were afraid to be unhappy again?”
He let out a sound, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Yes. I suppose I did.”
“Then why propose to me?” Her voice trembled for the first time, and she hated herself for it. “Why now?”
He stared at her, the force of his longing so unguarded that she could barely stand to look. “Because the thought of you marrying Dawnford, of you vanishing from my life, and from Sophia’s, was a misery I could not bear. Because I would rather be wounded again, rather be made a fool, than spend one more night knowing you are out there, suffering, and that I did nothing to stop it.”
She looked at him, searching for the lie. She could not find one.
He means it. He is a fool, and he is broken, and he is stubborn, but he means every word.
Still, she had to be sure. “Is this obligation, or guilt?”
“It is neither,” he said, his voice low and almost savage. “It is need, and it is want. It is the certainty that if I do not claim you now, I will never forgive myself for what comes after.”
Lavinia wanted to believe him. She ached to believe him. But every part of her that had ever been hurt before raised its voice in warning.
She took a step closer, so close she could feel the heat of him, the wildness of his heart.
“Show me,” she whispered.
He looked at her, then, and his entire body seemed to shudder with restraint. For a moment, she thought he would seize her and kiss her, and perhaps she wanted that. But instead, he only said:
“I will prove it to you.” His eyes bore into hers, and he stood so tall before her that he seemed to bend everything around him.
Lavinia grew breathless. “How?”
He did not break his gaze. “Come to Evermere tonight. Bring your sister, and Lady Montfort. I want to host you for dinner. I will make my case in front of them all, and if you do not believe me by the end, I will leave you in peace.”
The challenge hung between them, bright and dangerous. Lavinia found herself nodding. “Very well.”
