“Of course I can’t forget it. Wick, Iwantto help you—but just as you have people depending on you, I have people depending upon me.”
At the anguish in her voice, self-loathing rose like bile in his throat. Damn him for putting her through this—especially when she had other worries to contend with. It was his job to protect her, and he was doing a shoddy job on all fronts.
“I understand,” he said gruffly.
“Do you?” Now anger threaded her words, and he was glad because he deserved it. “This isn’t the first time I failed to meet expectations, you know. After my accident, I was no longer the beautiful debutante Croydon wanted or the daughter my father was proud to call his own. My own brother couldn’t even look at me without being consumed by rage and the lust for revenge.”
His chest knotted. “I’m not like them. Beatrice…I love you.”
It wasn’t the way he meant to tell her of his feelings, but he felt the urgency to speak the truth, as if they were suddenly on borrowed time. He knew she cared for him, but did she love him in return? If she did, then surely they would find a way…
“Is love enough?” Her scar seemed to flinch against her pale skin.
Although it wasn’t the response he’d hoped for, he saw her despair and couldn’t stand to see her hurting. He reached for her hands, which were startlingly cold.
“Of course it is,” he said.
“My parents were in love,” she said in a remote voice. “They were utterly devoted to one another…until my accident. Then my papa couldn’t stand to be near me, stayed away from the family more and more. When he died, it was in the arms of his mistress. He broke my mama’s heart, and she passed away not long after. Happiness never lasts.”
Her story chilled him. Nonetheless, he rubbed her hands between his own.
“Our happiness will last,” he said firmly.
“How? If I do not yield, then your company will fail. How could you forgive me for destroying your success? And your partners and friends will surely see me as a pariah, as they would have every right to do.”
“That won’t happen—”
“And if I do yield,”—she let out a ragged breath—“then I could not forgive myself.”
He fought the growing tide of powerlessness. There had to be a solution.
“Mr. Norton’s report isn’t back yet,” he said doggedly. “There’s still hope that we can find an alternative solution. Listen to me, Beatrice: love will find a way.”
“The difference between you and me,” she whispered, “is that you actually believe that.”
* * *
Beatrice descended the steps the next morning with a leaden heart. She’d had breakfast sent up on a tray; she hadn’t felt sociable. Lisette had tried to cheer her up, dressing her in a frock the color of ripe raspberries, but she knew her grim state of mind showed. Although Wick had wanted to come to her last night, she’d refused him.
She’d needed to be alone, to have time to think…and prepare.
How she wished Fancy were here right now. Her bosom chum had been there after her life had disintegrated the first time, and Fancy’s presence would be a great comfort. For as much as Beatrice had grown to like Wick’s family and friends, she didn’t think she could rely on their kindness once she destroyed his company and career.
She wouldn’t even like herself.
I should have never left Camden Manor. I belong there—not here.
The impulse to return home was stronger than ever. Although she’d sent a note to her butler, telling him to be on the alert for Mr. Varnum, she felt like she was being derelict in her duties. The relief of identifying her secret enemy was dimmed by the knowledge that she wasn’t where she ought to be…and by her growing certainty that her time with Wick was coming to an end.
She didn’t blame him for asking her to reconsider yielding her land. Because of her, he was in a terrible bind. If only she could do as he asked, but she couldn’t.
I’m not like them. Beatrice…I love you.
His profession should have brought her joy, but all she could think about was the pain. The pain of losing him, a pain that would make all her other losses pale in comparison. A pain she would never recover from…because she loved him.
With every fiber of her being, even though she ought to have known better.
She reached the ground floor and went to see if Wick had left for the office. She heard his voice as she neared his study; she halted, hearing another voice. The door was cracked open, Wick and his mama’s conversation coming through.
