Verity opened the door wide. She smiled. He stepped inside and kissed her, a light touch of his lips on hers, determined not to let passion sweep all rational thought away. They must talk. It was difficult to be near her and not take her in his arms, but it would be the wrong approach. He had to prove there was more to their relationship. He knew it. But did she?
“I have English whiskey.” She looked beautiful, if a little restrained, in her cream gown.
He picked up the bottle. “Irish whiskey.” He turned with a smile. “You’ve never been to Ireland?”
She smiled back. “No.”
“I’d like to take you there one day.” He offered her a glass. She settled on a padded armchair in that graceful manner she had, her legs tucked beneath her. He poured a small amount into a tumbler and took the chair facing hers. He didn’t like how serious she was.
“Did it go well at the theatre?”
“They’ve taken me back. I will complete the season… and then…” She gave a shrug.
He put the glass down, and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I want to ask you something.”
Her eyes grew large. “Anthony—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “Hear me out, please, before you answer.”
She nodded.
“You’ve pushed me away these last few days. Why?”
Her delicate eyebrows drew together. She shook her head.
“I am not sure how much your stage career means to you. If it’s the reason for this sudden coolness, you must know it doesn’t matter to me. I want to see you happy, Verity. I want you to share my life.” He rushed on. “I’m perfectly willing to share you with the stage, if that is what you want.”
Verity’s even white teeth pulled at her bottom lip, her eyes huge violet pools of emotion he couldn’t read, didn’t understand. Hating this distance between them he had to move closer. He placed a hand on each arm of her chair, gazing down at her. “Marry me, please, my love. I cannot live without you. I won’t. Not unless you give me a very good reason.”
She brushed his hand as if she was afraid to touch him. “I cannot marry you, Anthony. Please don’t do this.”
“Is it because you don’t love me? If it’s that, I’ll go out that door and won’t trouble you again.”
Her smiled trembled. “That would be so easy, wouldn’t it? You don’t really know me, Anthony. You’re in love with a woman who doesn’t exist.” She reached up to touch his hair, but her hand fell away. “Perhaps you think me a little like your beloved Anna in some way. It would be a mistake for us to marry. I never expected it.” She took his hand and held it against her cheek. “If you feel you must do this because of what we’ve been to each other, you don’t.” She gazed up at him, her eyes pleading. “You don’t,” she whispered.
Anthony fought the desire to carry her off to bed and convince her of his love. It wouldn’t work. Did she think that was the only reason he wanted her? There was so much more.
“Please, Anthony, will you just go?”
Pain and desolation swept over him far worse than when he’d been in the French prison. Whatever the reason, she’d made her decision. Perhaps it was made before he kidnapped her and brought her to England. He straightened. “Very well, Verity. I won’t trouble you again.”
“Goodbye, Anthony.”
Anthony picked up his hat and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked down the stairs, back into his old life, and the lonely weeks, months and years that lay ahead without her. It was too painful to contemplate.
