He’d already drunk too much that evening at the nearby pub but that was not going to be nearly enough. He tipped the bottle and took one healthy swallow, and then another. Why couldn’t he marry her? Why couldn’t he be the one to make her dreams come true? Because he was a coward, that was why. He was afraid of going through the pain he’d suffered through with Bethany.
What was this pain then? Was it any better?
As the spicy liquid burned its way into his gut, he imagined her walking down the aisle at St. George’s on Hanover Square; a faceless bastard waiting for her at the altar.
Over his dead body.
He staggered across to his desk, dropped into the wooden chair and blinked several times so that he could see the words he intended to write.
New York City, Two in the Morning, April 23rd, 1829
Maggie,
Good to hear you’re ready to move on without me. Perhaps you’ll find someone else to take you upside down, right side up, and all those other ways you and I never had the opportunity to explore. Tell me his name, and I’ll shove a dagger through his heart.
Just as you’ve done to me.
I’ve tried to move on, damn you. I’ve tried to look into the future and imagine it without you. I’ve tried flirting with other women, beautiful women. They even arouse a flicker of indifferent physical response but it’s no good and not once have I ever been tempted to go through with it.
You and I were good, damnit, Maggie. We were good.
But I’ve lost you and it’s no one’s fault but my own. I don’t deserve you. I was selfish and a coward and… I hate myself right now.
For leaving you. For hurting you. For loving you.
I’ve made my bed, Maggie, and now I’ll have to lie in it. I’ll lie there pathetically, close my eyes, and take care of my needs alone.
Imagining your face, your scent, the sensation of easing inside your body.
I’ll stop writing to you. I’ll stop thinking about you. I’ll stop missing you.
I never wanted to hurt you, god damnit. I only wanted to make you feel good. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.
I miss you. God knows I’ll never stop missing you.
Sebastian tookanother swig from the bottle but had to steady himself when the room swayed and lurched.
“I beg of you, stop sending them.”
He picked up his letter and read what he’d written. None of it mattered. He’d had his chance, and he’d squandered it. He’d made his choice.
The paper crumpled easily in his hand. He paused only a second before tossing it across the room to land in the center of the hearth. The edges darkened and then flared as flames erased his final letter. He wished he’d done things differently. Because he’d been a fool to let her go. He wanted all of it, all the things she’d wanted. Having a family with her might have been the greatest adventure of all.
And as he stared at the fire, a vague memory taunted him.
“Someday you won’t fear it anymore.”
And what had he said in answer?
“Hell, Maggie, if that were to occur, I’d race across the world to find you.”
30
A Ton Ball
London, May 31st, 1829
Margaret leaned against the upholstery,knowing she might have several minutes to wait as her carriage lined up in the que outside of Burtis Hall. The Earl and Countess of Ravensdale’s elaborate townhouse was set in the heart of Mayfair, and as this was to be the last ball of the season, the affair would no doubt be talked about all summer long.
