She swallowed hard, his warning ringing in her ears and his anger making her hands shake. But then she straightened her shoulders, took a step toward him instead of away and said, “No.”
Alexander stared, his rage and pain muted momentarily by the strength Marianne presented. She stood toe to toe with him, the only indication that she was afraid was the slight tremble to her lower lip. And she shook her head slowly.
“I won’t leave you, Alexander,” she whispered. “You won’t chase me away.”
Deep inside, in a place he thought he had killed a long time ago, something in him broke. Pain spread through him, pain and heartache and desire for the connection she offered just by staying instead of running away. He had been alone for so very long and this woman…this woman made him want a different life. One he didn’t deserve, hadn’t earned, one he couldn’t have.
Could he?
“What did you read?” he asked, his voice as ragged as his emotions.
She didn’t break her stare from his as she said, “Just the last two lines your sister wrote. That she wished you would be more prudent in your affairs. That she wished you would come home and see her.”
Alexander almost buckled under the weight of those two sentences. He had read his sister’s diary a hundred times since her death, smiling at her girlish dreams and flowing descriptions of her life. Aching as she talked about the beginnings of an illness that would soon steal her away.
Breaking at those last two lines she’d ever written. They labeled him as exactly what he was: a monster. He’d carried that truth with him for years. It was the reason why he hid, far beyond the scar that marred him.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said, but most of the heat had gone out of his rage.
Marianne moved toward him another step, and this time when she touched him he didn’t have the ability to pull away. Her fingers closed over his forearm and she touched his cheek with her other hand.
“I shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “But I did. And I’m not sorry that I want to understand you more. Haven’t you been alone long enough?”
He flinched. “Ideserveto be alone, Marianne. God, I never should have brought you here. Wanting you took me off guard and I should have known it would end like this. I shouldn’t have allowed myself…” He swallowed hard. “…you.”
“Tell me what happened,” she pressed, her fingers stroking along the ridge of his scar, gentle, just as she was gentle. “Please.”
The pain spread, like a fist opening in his chest, and he nearly buckled from it. He’d controlled it so long that now it felt overwhelming, like waves on an ocean that could no longer be repelled by a sea wall. A hurricane that would wash away all that he was and all that he had pretended to be all these years.
“She was sick,” he began, closing his eyes as tears stung there. “She was sick and I should have come home. I didn’t think it was serious, though, and I…I was doing something I shouldn’t have done.”
She was quiet a moment, then her thumb smoothed over his lower lip. He opened his eyes and her green stare held his, soothing him like a walk in a cool wood. “What were you doing?” she asked.
He held his breath. He had never spoken of his deeds. He had never said out loud what had brought him here. And yet this woman coaxed so many emotions from him. So many things he had promised himself he would never feel again.
And he found himself saying the words.
“I was engaged in an affair with a married woman,” he admitted, watching her face for a reaction of horror or anger or fear. There was none, only empathy. “Her husband found out and challenged me to a duel. I was supposed to leave for home that day, to see Anne. Instead, I faced him on the field of honor.”
Her eyes went wide. “So, you—you were shot?”
He shook his head. “No, I shot him in the shoulder, disarming him. And I was so damned cocky. Such a bastard. I strode up to that man, happy to gloat over my victory. It turned out he had a knife.”
She recoiled momentarily. “Oh, Alexander.”
“He cut me.” He turned his face so his scar faced her. “He nearly took my eye. In the end, he just managed to make me as ugly on the outside as I was inside. He was wrestled to the ground by his second and I was rushed off, bleeding and damaged. I couldn’t leave London for a week as they tended the wounds. By the time I did…”
She flinched. “She was…”
He nodded. “When I arrived home, she was no longer conscious. She died in my arms without ever knowing I’d returned. Without ever speaking another word to me or hearing my voice.”
He bent his head and a drop of water hit his hand. He stared at it, realizing for the first time that he was crying. He had never wept, not when Anne died. Not since. He hadn’t allowed himself that luxury, and yet now the tears slid down his cheeks and burned his skin.
“Alexander,” Marianne whispered as she moved to wrap her arms around him.
For a moment, he allowed that comfort, pulling his arms around her as he leaned against her, the only thing holding him up. The only person for years to crack through his mask.
“I’m so sorry,” she soothed, her hands moving gently across his back. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
