“What is this? Polite conversation?” she threw at him. “Have we just met?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
“Henrietta, for heaven’s sake. We aren’t married. What if the servants came in?”
“They won’t.”
His dark eyebrows rose. “How can you be sure?”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t dare?” His lips trembled slightly. “Not even with the tea tray?”
She giggled. “I threatened to send them to the country if they came before I called, even if it was a matter of life or death.”
Christian appeared to wrestle with a similar emotion. He studied his boots. “Now we’re back in London, I don’t want you to feel you must hold me to my proposal, Henrietta.”
Shocked, she drew in a ragged breath. In profile his face looked set, his jaw tense. “You’ve changed your mind? You no longer wish to marry me?”
“You’re very young.” He frowned, looking at her at last, his eyes imploring. “You have not yet experienced a London Season. You must admit you want excitement in your life, and for a while in France I thought I might share that desire. But I’m a dull dog, really. I’d want to spend most of my time in the country. You’d become quickly bored with me.”
She gasped as her chest tightened painfully. What was he telling her? He’d been caught up in the excitement? It wasn’t love but merely a lighthearted distraction? She spun away from him and sat on the sofa. “You said you loved me.” She clasped her trembling hands tight.
“I do. But my love might not be enough to sustain a happy marriage. Not when we want different things. I may not be the man for you.” His blue-gray eyes were shadowed. Of course, he loved her. She waited for him to come to her. To take her in his arms and confess that this was all a fudge.
When he failed to cross the room, she shook her head, confused. “Not enough? Love is everything.”
His smile was sad. “To someone of your tender years it does seem so.”
She stared at him. The man standing before her wasn’t the Christian she’d come to love. This man was a stranger to her. She swallowed. “Very well. I release you.” It hurt her throat to say the words. Her heart ached unbearably, and she swallowed her tears. She would never let him see them.
He remained where he stood. “That is wise, Henrietta.”
She lowered her head before he saw too much. “You make perfect sense, Christian. I don’t wish to be buried in the country nor be merely a wife and mother. Not yet. London is exciting. And then, there’s my stage career to organize.”
She did not say that she longed to be loved by him, passionately, above all things. That she would have gone willingly into the deepest depths of the country just to be with him and would never have mentioned the stage again if he so wished it.
The pain of his rejection was like a physical wound. She could scarcely breathe. She rose unsteadily from the sofa. Dropped into her best curtsey. “If you’ll forgive me, I promised to call in and see Philippe. He isn’t so well today.”
She didn’t understand it. His eyes looked so bleak. He bowed stiffly. “I’m sorry to hear it. Please convey my wishes for his rapid recovery.” He rushed to open the door for her before the footman in the hall could. She passed through without a backward glance.Oh, you would be so impressed with me, Verity. I will make a fine actress.She gathered the shreds of her self-control around her like a cloak, raised her chin and climbed the stairs. At the bannister rail, she watched him take his hat, gloves, and cane from the butler. Christian walked out the front door and stood on the porch. She held her breath and waited for him to turn back. And for a moment she was sure he would. But he pulled on his gloves and walked down the steps. The door closed, and he was gone.
In her bed chamber she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed unrestrainedly. Why wasn’t Verity here when she needed her? Her father would be angry with Christian. He would never understand. Neither did she. Was he that rake her aunt had warned her about? Despite her pain and confusion, she couldn’t believe it.
* * *
Christian halted beneath the street lamp and looked at the balcony where he’d first caught sight of the lovely girl he’d hoped to make his own. Those dreams had turned to dust. It was as well that she hadn’t employed that fighting spirit of hers to keep him to his word. He would have weakened quicker than under torture. It was better this way.
That morning, his spymaster had dropped a final mission in his lap. Christian must return to France immediately, a significant and dangerous assignment. He refused to leave a broken-hearted young woman behind to mourn him if he failed to return. Knowing how loyal Henrietta was if he told her the truth she would wait for him. Far too long. His hunched his shoulders and walked home. He’d hated hurting her, hated seeing her so confused. But now that she detested him, she would put him out of her heart and mind when the suitors came calling. And there would be many.
He’d like to thrash them all.
* * *
Anthony entered Verity’s hotel with the intention of fixing a wedding date and carry her off to the country. Anna had followed him to another country, but he was young and brash then and very convincing. Now he suffered niggling doubts. Verity hadn’t wished to come to England. If it had been safe for her to stay in France, would he still have abducted her? He wasn’t sure. He suspected he was slightly mad when it came to Verity.
He hesitated on the stairs. Since they’d reached English soil, she’d become more reserved. It was as if she distanced herself from him. Was the theatre his true rival? At her door, he banished the unwelcome thoughts before he knocked. He could do no more than declare his love, and trust she would come to accept the wisdom of their marriage.
