She offered him a cool smile after handing over her things to the butler. “Hello, Lord Eversleigh. I didn’t realize you would be by this evening.”
It was the proper address and the blasé attitude that undid him. “So it’s back to the formalities, is it? I see that you’re already trying to pretend that last night didn’t happen.”
Roarke thought he saw a hint of alarm in her green eyes before she concealed it from view.
“Perhaps I should check in on Lyra—” she hedged.
“Trying to avoid me?” he sneered. “Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I fear your ploy to avoid me right now is futile. My sister is at Eversleigh House waiting for our mother to return. And they aren’t the only ones who need to have a long overdue chat.”
Mara visibly paled. “Surely it can wait for another time? I’ve had a rather hectic day, and I’m quite tired—”
“No, it can’t.” With his jaw set, he grasped her by the arms. “I want to know why you keep acting like I mean nothing to you when the responses from your body and the words from your own lips tell me otherwise.”
A slight flush colored her cheeks, but otherwise, her expression didn’t change.
It merely incensed him that much more.
Giving her a shake, he growled, “Dammit, Mara, I want the truth! And I’m not leaving until you tell me what I want to know.”
“There you are, my darling!”
Mara abruptly found herself pushed behind Roarke, as a Frenchman she’d never met before burst into the foyer.
However, upon seeing that she wasn’t alone, he stopped abruptly. “But what is going on? My dear Mara, who is this man?”
“I think the more appropriate question is who areyou?” Roarke demanded.
“I am Francois LeClaire.” The Frenchman puffed out his chest. “Miss Miller’s lover.” With an inward sigh, Mara realized that this must be the solution that Lady Eversleigh had come up with—therather harsh but effective way to break Roarke’s heart.It certainly hadn’t taken Lavinia long to find a man willing to act as Mara’s apparent paramour, but surely she could have found a better actor than this buffoon.
Mara forced a seductive smile that she hoped didn’t come out as a grimace, and gently chided, “I told you to wait until we could be alone.”
“But I could not be away from you!” The man put a hand to his heart in true, dramatic fashion, before waving a hand in Roarke’s direction. “Surely you do not think to compare me to this boring Englishman, yes? You know I can pleasure you in ways you’ve only dreamed—”
And that is where Roarke’s fist cut off the rest of the man’s sentence.
Francois dared to laugh from his sprawled position on the floor. Blood was trickling from a cut on his lip, but he didn’t appear overly concerned. Mara had a sinking feeling this was not the first time he’d been laid on his arse. “You think she is an innocent flower? I have known hermanytimes, monsieur. In fact, just last night after you took your leave of her—”
Mara gasped as Roarke picked the man up by his cravat and slammed him up against the wall. Francois gasped for breath, but his request for oxygen was denied. “You are putrid filth that spreads nothing but false lies. Take your leave of my sister’s house and make sure that I never see you again.”
It wasn’t until he began to turn an alarming shade of purple, that Roarke finally released the man.
Mara instantly turned on him. “What has gotten into you? You have no right to be acting this way!”
“Don’t I?” Roarke held her captive with his icy glare, then reached out and grabbed her arm. “You’re nothing to him,” he snarled. “You’remine.”
“Not anymore,” she snapped, pulling her arm free.
Roarke instantly stilled. “What are you saying?”
“Exactly that.” Mara prayed that her voice was steady as she went on ruthlessly, hating herself with every single word she uttered. “I lied to you, just like I’ve lied about everything else. I don’t love you. You mean nothing to me and never have.” She swallowed. “You never will. The only thing I’ve ever wanted from you is to leave.”
For several heartbreaking minutes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Mara could have heard a pin drop as Roarke’s hazel eyes shifted from her to Francois. It was just like that morning at the shop when he recognized her for the impostor that she was, although this time an acidic mix of rage, regret, and pain flashed, before Roarke settled on one final emotion, meant to cut deeper than all the rest.
Resignation.
His voice was empty and void when he finally spoke. “Fine. If this is how you want to play the game, Mara, then by all means, but I find that I’ve grown tired of trying to prove myself to you. I’ve done everything short of pleading with you to believe in me enough to explain what happened to separate us all those years ago, but for some reason, you don’t think that I can handle whatever it was.” He gestured to Francois. “While I don’t believe a single moment of this little play, you have made it perfectly clear where you stand. Rest assured I will not bother you any longer, but know that the love I felt for you was always genuine. I just hope you don’t come to regret this decision someday, because I shall give you what you so desperately desire. Au revoir, my dear.”
By now, silent tears were streaming down Mara’s face. “Roarke…” Her voice cracked, and while the muscles in his jaw flexed, his expression never changed. In the end, he did what he promised. He walked away, the sound of the front door slamming shut enough to make her flinch, it was so final. She had a sinking feeling that this time, he would remain true to his word. He wouldn’t be back.
He was gone. Forever.
