He was halfway across the room to her before he realized he’d moved. “No more threats, Eleanor.”
She backed away from him. “I don’t believe you. What else did you hear?”
What he’d heard then . . . his chest ached with the memory of Eleanor’s voice, so warm it was more a touch than a sound, like a hand against his cheek, or arms sliding around his neck. Her soft inflection when she’d spoken to Amelia—God, he’d never forget it. Something had leapt to life within him then, had made his blood surge through his body with such wild abandon he’d had to brace himself against the wall to keep from staggering.
He’d promised not to touch her, but no force in the world could have kept him from moving closer to her then. “Amelia asked if friends could care as much about each other as sisters did, and you said . . . you said they could.”
He took another step toward her. Another, until he was close enough to touch her. He moved slowly to give her time to retreat again, but she remained still, watching him.
He wrapped his hand around her fingertips. “I went to find Miss Norwood after that, and I didn’t hear any more. But I didn’t need to. By then, I knew.”
Her dark eyes held his, as if mesmerized. “You . . . knew?”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, let his lips brush against her knuckles and the back of her wrist, over the pale, tender skin he’d longed to taste again. “I knew you’d never hurt Amelia, Eleanor. You care too much for her.”
Her hand jerked at the warm press of his lips, and the hairpins slipped from her palm to scatter across the floor.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” He pressed his mouth to her open palm. “Tell me.”
God, he hadn’t meant to touch her. He’d come here to tell her the truth, and he had to do itnow, before he couldn’t remember anymore what was true and what was a lie. Before he could think of nothing but the satin of her skin beneath his lips.
Just one more taste. She gasped as he kissed the tips of each of her fingers, one by one, then drew them into the warmth of his mouth. Her eyes dropped closed, but still she didn’t speak.
“You could never hurt her, could you? You need to say it, Eleanor.”
Say it for yourself, not for me.
He already knew the truth. He knew she’d never hurt Amelia, despite her threats, but he wasn’t suresheknew it. If she didn’t say it now, if she didn’t admit it to herself and to him, then she’d always wonder if she were capable of such cruelty.
No. He didn’t want that for her—couldn’t bear it. He raised her hand to his face, pressed her palm against his cheek. “Open your eyes, Ellie. Please, love. Look at me.” He took her face between his hands and let his fingers tangle in the thick locks of hair at her temples. “You have to say it.”
She opened her eyes. “I could never hurt her.” Her voice was low, pleading. “I couldn’t hurt Amelia any more than I could hurt Charlotte, or Alec or Robyn.”
He leaned toward her, pressed his mouth to her forehead. “I know it. I know you can’t.”
She pulled back to look into his face, her eyes stricken. “What if I had done it? Oh, God, that sweet child. What if I had gone through with it, and ruined her?”
“Hush.” He kissed her forehead again. “You didn’t hurt Amelia, Ellie. I don’t believe you ever would have, but in the end it wouldn’t have made any difference if you had told her secret.”
She shook her head. “How could it not?”
He sighed. “My Uncle Reggie knows the truth. He’s threatened before to make the circumstances of Amelia’s birth public, and now he’s furious with me for buying Julian’s commission. It’s only a matter of time before he exposes her.”
Her brow furrowed. “But then why did you . . .”
All at once she stopped speaking and gazed up at him, her dark eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. She’d never looked at him that way before, and it made his breath catch.
Tell her now.
He might never see that look in her eyes again once she knew the truth, but he couldn’t begin anew with her with all the lies still between them. He opened his mouth to tell her everything, but before he could say a word her face went white, and she began to tremble.
“Eleanor?” His fingers touched her chin and titled her head back, so he could see her face. “What is it?”
She looked up at him with panicked dark eyes. “I can’t hurt Amelia, but I can’t let you hurt Charlotte. I don’t know what to do. You’ll take everything from me, Cam, but sometimes I don’twantto fight you anymore.”
Pain tore into him—pain, or pleasure so sharp it felt like pain. It thundered through his chest, sweeping before it that hard, dark coldness that had lived at the center of him for as long as he could remember, that kernel of fury and despair, hidden under layers of lacerated skin, so deeply embedded he thought it could never tear free.
And then his mouth was on her temples, her eyelids, her cheeks. He buried his face in her hair and between kisses he murmured to her—he didn’t know what he said, just disjointed words and promises—that he’d never hurt her, that he’d be good to her, so good. He wanted her, so much, more than he’d ever wanted anything.
