“I am so sorry.” She lowered her head. “I did not want it to be this way.”
“Nor did I. Let me apologize for insulting your person and your lovely gown just now. You look like a princess. Beautiful. And I cannot be near you and stay a gentleman. Good night, my lady.” He inclined his head and walked away, black-clad shoulders pushing through rosebushes.
Meg glided after him. Her sleeve snagged on a rose and she plucked it free, wincing at the sting. “Listen, do!”
He sighed, paused. “Lady Strathlin,” he murmured, “you are a beautiful creature, and I will never forget the vision of you tonight. Nor will I forget the vision of you on that island. You give me a great deal to think about. Too much.”
She caught his sleeve. “Will you not hear what I have to say, when I listened to you?” She tugged. “I listened, and I forgave you—all of it.”
They stood on the path, hemmed between rosebushes and potted ferns. “Then tell me why you kept this from me, after all of that.”
“Just—when I saw you on Caransay, and realized that we—had met before, I—I hated you for part of that,” she said. “And I loved you, too, all at once. And I did not know what to do. Can you understand that?”
“More than you know,” he said gruffly. “Loving the dream, unsure of the reality. Go on.”
“I thought you used me on the rock, and I did not want to be used again.”
“I never did.” He leaned down.“Never.”
“I know that now. I did not know it then.”
“Yet even later, you still kept the truth from me. Mrs. Berry! Come now,” he reminded her.
“You despised the baroness! You made that clear. What was I to do? I thought it would end what we had on the island. I feared you would stop…loving me.” A sob burst out and salt tears pooled.
“I have always loved you,” he murmured without moving. “I cannot stop that.”
“Even if you want to?” When he did not answer, she rushed on. “And I love you. So why are in such disagreement now?”
“Love needs truth, my dear. It thrives on truth and withers on secrets. You have too many. I have the feeling there are more things I do not know.” He swept an arm out. “This incredible wealth. It would change a person.”
“It is not easy. But I have tried to stay the same. As for secrets—”
“I know your secret now. I need time to think. You need it too.”
She caught her breath. She had to tell him about Sean. Yet she glanced up to see a few guests lingering—lawyers, businessmen waiting for Dougal, looking into the shadowed garden.
As for the remaining secret, Roderick still loomed as a threat, limiting what she could safely say. If he decided to spread the word about her son, her lover, he could destroy all of them. He could find records that proved the birth, proved she had noprevious husband, though her kin had put that about. She could not bear that—nor could she see it harm Dougal.
“There are things still to say,” she whispered, feeling defeated in the moment.
“Not now. We are both overwrought. A day or two.” His voice was cool, flat.
She nodded, numb, wanting to feel that all would be well, but that assurance was missing.
He strode away, leaving the garden, entering the house, pausing to speak to those still waiting. They went in a group toward the foyer. When Meg finally entered the house, she heard voices at the door and heard it close.
She thought she might never inhale the fragrance of roses again without feeling her heart break. Now she must find the courage to reveal her last, dearest secret, even if that truth pushed him further away. A day or two to think—aye, they both needed that.
*
Perhaps he waswrong to return to Meg’s house on Charlotte Square, but he had promised he would. For good or ill, he had to see her again. Then he would know.
He stood waiting in the foyer, afternoon sun pouring golden heat through from the transom window over the door. For a moment, he nearly turned to leave, but the butler had already gone to deliver the news of his arrival to Lady Strathlin.
In the two days since the soiree, he had pondered never seeing her again. But one matter still needed attention; there was that. Truth was, he could not stay away from her.
Slipping a hand into his pocket, he felt the smooth leather of her journal, with the publisher’s cheque tucked inside. A woman of such wealth might laugh at that. He had wrestled for days overthe fact of her wealth and status in comparison to his humble, earnest, hardworking existence. He felt foolish by comparison despite his respectable family, excellent income, and a fine inheritance. Last night, he had hardly slept, wondering what really mattered.
