“That I love you.” The words came out rough, almost unsteady. “That I have loved you since the moment you stormed into my study with a fireplace poker and offered an apology. That I will love you for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be. And that losing you will be the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
Fiona felt tears slide down her cheeks, but she did not brush them away.
“Then do not lose me,” she said softly. “It is not too late. You could tell the driver to stand down. You could take my hand and lead me back inside. You could choose us, Christian. Here. Now. You could choose us.”
His expression crumpled.
“I can’t.”
“You can,” she said quietly. “You simply will not.”
“It is the same thing.”
“No.” She stepped closer, near enough to feel the warmth of him, to catch the familiar scent of soap and sandalwood. “It is not the same at all. One is inability. The other is choice. And you are choosing, Christian. You are choosing fear over love. You are choosing solitude over joy. You are choosing the voices in your head over the woman standing before you—begging you, for once in your life, to be brave.”
“You do not understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, feeling the scratch of stubble against her palms. “I understand that you are terrified. I understand that the world has been cruel to you, and that you have learned to expect cruelty from everyone, including yourself. But I also understand that you have the power to make a different choice. You have always had that power. You just refuse to use it.”
He closed his eyes, tears leaking from beneath his lashes.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am sorry I am not the man you need me to be.”
“You are exactly the man I need. You are simply too blind to see it.”
She released him and stepped back, putting distance between them before her resolve failed entirely.
“Goodbye, Christian.” Her voice was steadier than she felt. “I know you love me. And I know you understand what we are giving up.”
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself.
“But perhaps you need time—time to quiet the doubts that have followed you for so long, time to see yourself as I see you.”
Her gaze held his.
“I shall not pretend this does not break my heart. Yet I will trust that what we have shared is not so easily undone.”
She paused, her composure trembling for only a moment.
“If you ever find the courage to believe you deserve the happiness before you, you will know where to find me. And when that day comes…” Her voice softened. “I believe we shall meet again.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“Until we meet again, Your Grace.”
She turned and climbed into the carriage before he could respond.
Molly was already inside, her eyes wide and wet. Fiona settled onto the seat across from her and stared straight ahead, refusing to look out the window, refusing to see whatever expression was on Christian’s face.
“Drive on,” she called to the coachman.
The carriage lurched into motion.
And Fiona Hart, who had sworn she would not look back, broke her promise.
She turned her head and gazed out the window, just for a moment, just long enough to see Christian standing where she had left him—alone, broken, watching her leave with an expression of such profound anguish that she felt it like a physical blow.
Then the carriage rounded the curve of the drive, and Thornwick Castle disappeared behind a screen of trees, and he was gone.
