Emotion clogged her throat. He was saying the things that had filled her dreams. Shewantedto believe him…but she flashed to that scene on the balcony, the shattering anguish of seeing Imogen in his arms. How could she trust that he loved her, that he wasn’t simply settling for the consolation prize?
She pulled away, and he let her, his gaze following her keenly.
“If that is the case, why did seeing Imogen at Maggie’s ball affect you so?” When his brows knitted, she said, “After that night, you became distant. You didn’t come to my bed, and then when I sought you out…” She bit her lip, humiliation throbbing like a deep-seated splinter. “I told you I loved you, and you…rebuffed me.”
“I was a bastard.” Self-condemnation hardened his voice. “There is no excuse for how I treated you, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am. But you’re wrong about one thing: it wasn’t Imogen who triggered my mood—it was Anna Smith.”
“But…why?” She tilted her head. “At that point, the danger was over. Shouldn’t you have been happy or relieved at the very least?”
“I was relieved that the danger to you was over.” Shadows deepened in his eyes. “But when I went to see Anna Smith, it brought back the memories of visiting mymaman…in Bedlam.”
At the revelation, Fancy stilled. London’s infamous Bethlehem Hospital, commonly known as Bedlam, was an asylum for the insane.
“Your mother was ill?” Fancy said carefully.
“She didn’t start off that way.” His voice was gritty. “According to the mad-doctor, it was the gin that did it to her. Mymaman, she drank a lot. Not during my earliest years; I remember a time when her eyes and mind were clear. But when she started selling herself to support us, it changed her. She was a passionate woman, my mother, and doing something so contrary to her wishes and sense of dignity destroyed her. She had to find some way to numb herself…and blue ruin was her answer.”
“Your poor mama,” Fancy said achingly.
“She was a loving mother, but when she drank, she became a different person. I was twelve when she started hallucinating. Hearing and seeing things that were not there. When I tried to tell her it was just her imagination, she would grow distraught, and a few times she forgot who I was, thought I was trying to harm her. And she…she attacked me. One time, she chased me into the street with a knife. I should have gotten out of the way, but I wasn’t fast enough. She stabbed me, left the scar near my heart.”
Unable to bear the rawness of her husband’s pain, Fancy went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
His arms circled her like iron bands. “She didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Of course she didn’t.” Fancy held him with all her strength. “She was not herself.”
“After that time, the authorities took her away. For years, I visited her in Bedlam, and seeing her suffering, how she was treated...” His voice was muffled against her hair. “There was nothing I could do to help her. I was glad when she died, glad that her torment was finally over. When I went to see Anna Smith, being in the asylum brought everything back.”
Fancy stroked his back. “I understand.”
Because now she did. Knight hadn’t been brooding over Imogen; he had been reliving the horrors of his youth. She had the sudden insight that this was the root of his infatuation with Imogen: was it any wonder that he would seek a pure, untouchable love when the real love he’d experienced had been so full of darkness and pain?
He drew back to look at her but did not loosen his hold.
“I should not have made love to you that night,” he said roughly. “In the mood that I was in, I should have stayed away. When you told me you loved me, I…panicked. And I don’t even know why. Because I love you, Fancy, I do.”
“I think I understand.” She touched his jaw, his tension trembling through her. “Love hasn’t been easy, has it? Maybe passion and lust felt safer.”
She saw recognition fork through his eyes like lightning.
“I have come to realize that I made that vow to Imogen not for her sake, but my own,” he said slowly. “Giving her that vow made me feel like I had left my past behind, and it shielded me from having to feel the darker side, the painful side of truly loving someone.”
“You told me from the start that love was risky,” she recalled.
“Yes, and you are worth any risk.” The awe in his expression clogged her throat. “You have been my helpmate at home and at work. You’ve listened to me, supported me, made me feel that I am not alone. Hell, you’ve somehow patched things up with my family, a feat I didn’t think was possible.”
“I love your family,” she said.
“Do you think you could lovemeagain?” His tentativeness swelled her heart. “I swear to you that what I feel for Imogen is just friendship. Gratitude for the time when she was my only friend. And I swear also that I won’t disrespect you or treat you shoddily in—or out—of bed again.”
“It wasn’tallbad,” she admitted. “Just the part when you didn’t tell me you loved me back.”
“I love you, Fancy.” He cupped her face in his hands as if she were the last flame guarding him against the darkness of the night. “So much that it terrifies me. Losing you would destroy me, but I’m going to love you anyway because I cannot stop. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and the only one I’ll want for the rest of my days.”
Well, thatwasan improvement from the last time.
“I can’t love youagain...because I never stopped. I was afraid, too,” she said candidly. “Afraid to ask for what I want, to believe that I deserve a husband like you. But I’m not settling for dishes I hate.”
