“Perhaps.” It was taking all her courage to keep facing him, to not look away.
His brows came together. “And why is that, Leonie? Why do you wish to live separately from your husband?”
“It is not unusual. We are not a love match. Couples live apart all the time.”
A shadow crossed his face at the words “love match,” an anger, and in that moment, for some reason, her mind’s eye went back to when she’d first laid eyes on him. She’d noticed him the instant he’d walked into the ballroom during the Colonial Ball. He had seemed so young then to how he was now.
The years had changed him.
However, that night had brought out the worst in Arthur. That had been the beginning of his jealousy.
“It isn’t that I don’t appreciate all you have done for me,” she added. “It really isn’t about you.”
“What I’ve done for you, Leonie?” he repeated. “Are you talking about the night you ran away with Paccard? The night you shot him and I told everyone it was me? Do you appreciate what would have happened if the truth had come out?”
Her own culpability shamed her. “I didn’t ask you to take responsibility for Arthur’s death.”
“No, you did not. I’m my own fool. But hear me well, Leonie, I was there when you needed me. Now, I’m holding you accountable. I have dreams, big dreams. I need you.”
“You need my dowry,” she corrected.
“Aye, I do. I want to make something of myself and not just for me, but for my family. I will not waste this opportunity. I will also not support a wife who doesn’t honor her vows, even if she can’t remember repeating them.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what that means.”
Was he saying he would annul the marriage? Set her aside?
That would be a disastrous turn of events, especially after the Duke of Baynton jilted her last year. The scandal would brand her for life. Her father might even be so furious he would disown her. Especially since he wouldn’t be able to marry her again. She had no illusions about how her father valued her.
She faced Roman. He had known she had no choice but to remain in the marriage, and as her husband, he now legally controlled her. She was his. A weight settled in her chest. “I am not a drunkard.”
His answer was a dubious lift of a brow.
“I’m not.” Her disclaimer sounded silly even to her own ears and her innate honesty forced her to say, “I have had a bit every now and then. I made a mistake this morning. I was not trying to disgrace you or back out of the marriage...”
Her throat tightened. The bile of feelings she struggled to keep at bay threatened to choke.
And there stood Roman in judgement of her. Roman who feltshehad abusedhim, that sheowedhim. That he’d made a bad bargain in this marriage.
He had no idea how damaged and revolting she truly was. He looked at her face and her body and thought he knew her—just as everyone else did.
And yet they knew nothing about her.Heknew nothing about her.
Her thoughts came out in a sharp bark of laughter. She sounded mad. She thought she was going mad—
“He raped me.”
Words she had never spoken before, that she’d barely allowed herself to think, blew out of her. They took form in the air between them.
She widened her eyes, startled at her audacity, and then she discovered that now she had started, she could not stop. “He raped me. I told him I’d changed my mind. I said I would take the blame. I wanted to return home. And he wouldnotlet me go.” She cut the air with her hands, emphasizing her words, creating space for them. Creating space for herself. Protecting herself—
“Leonie.”Roman moved toward her.
She held up her arm as if to ward him off, or was it Arthur? Arthur who had hit her, who had pulled her hair and told to shut her mouth, to stop screaming?
Roman stopped. He held his hands out as if showing her he had no tricks.
