“You are the opposite,” she said fiercely. “Honorable, protective, and kind.”
“Yet you lied to me.” The betrayal seared through him. “For nearly four years, you’ve carried the burden of this secret. Rather than confiding in me, you chose to suffer in silence. Am I so unworthy of your trust? Did you think I could not help you—that I would not?”
“There is no man on earth whom I trust more.” Her eyes shimmered. “But it wasn’t about you, it was about me. How undeserving I am of you. You already made a poor bargain in this marriage?—”
“I won’t have you saying that.” He cut her off with a glare. “Or believing such nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense,” she insisted. “You might be blind to the truth, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us mere mortals are.”
He shoved a hand through his damp hair. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You are perfect, James.”
He found her tone—and the way she waved at him—oddly insulting.
“Your virtues are countless, and your honor is unimpeachable,” she went on. “How was I supposed to tell you that I am a murderess?”
“Stop calling yourself that,” he snapped. “You didn’t murder that bastard. It was an accident—and, in any case, he deserved what he got.”
“That doesn’t make me any less guilty.”
“It bloody well does.” He checked himself. “You are deliberately missing the point.”
“No, you are missing the point.”
The spark of battle was in her eyes, and strangely, it soothed the beast in him.
“It was wrong of me, beyond wrong, to keep my past from you. I regret it more than I can say, and I cannot begin to apologize for dragging you into this. For betraying your trust and ruining your future. However…”
I should have known a “however” was coming.
“However, why is it that you refuse to see the truth?”
“What damned truth?”
“That I am not your equal,” she shot back. “Not in station or wealth, looks or character. You are Apollo, and I am some lowly acolyte who doesn’t deserve to kiss your feet. How am I supposed to then say, by the by, I killed my stepfather who tried to molest me?”
She was mad, he decided. Stark, raving mad.
“You will cease with this comparison to Apollo,” he commanded. “It is demeaning to both of us.”
“If the sandal fits.”
His blood went from simmering to boiling.
“Fine. If you wish to pursue this ridiculous metaphor, then by all means. You are not an acolyte—if you were, you would be subservient, meek, and adoring, and you are none of those things. What you are is secretive, inconvenient, and reckless. If I am Apollo, then you are bloody Daphne.” He jabbed a finger at her. “You are impossible to pin down and conceal yourself with plants instead of dealing with reality. I offer you my heart, and you bolt as if I carry the plague. I am tired of chasing you—tired of loving you when you make no effort to love me back.”
His chest heaving, he glowered at her. Evie’s jaw had gone slack, and she was staring at him as if he’d descended from Olympus… Christ, now she had him thinking in mythological terms.
“How could you possibly love me?”
The crack in her voice punctured his self-righteous anger.
“It would be easier if you didn’t lie to me at every turn,” he said shortly.
Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, he threw up his hands.
“Devil take it, Evie. We’ve been through this. Why do you think I married you?”
