Whatever it took.
And if it took pretending a love she didn’t feel?
No. Not that. Thea would never do such a hurtful thing. She’d never use him that way . . .
But the doubts that lurked in the dark corners of his mind had been awakened, and now they began to circle, ready to sink their claws into him.
She loved this house.
Cleves Court was a part of her—it always had been, and one couldn’t tear loose a piece of themselves, could they? Especially not for a man like him, a man who’d left her behind because he was so tormented by shame and guilt over his brother’s death he couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore.
God, he was such a fool—such a damn fool to think his fight with his past could ever have a happy ending.
The boys continued to tumble about on the frozen ground, but Ethan didn’t see them. He watched blindly as Martha ran off in the direction of the house, but he didn’t call her back, or follow her. He stood there with the icy wind blowing down the neck of his greatcoat, and tried to remember another time in his life when he’d felt quite so cold.
How far would Thea go to keep Cleves Court open?
He already knew the answer.
As far as she had to.
* * * *
“Ethan? The children were asking for you at dinner, but you never came.”
He hadn’t responded to the light knock, but Thea entered anyway, and now she stood in the doorway of his study, her anxious gaze moving between his face and the glass of whiskey in his hand.
He hadn’t gone to dinner because he wasn’t hungry. Despite the whiskey, he wasn’t thirsty, either, and he wasn’t angry, or sad, or even hurt.
He wasn’t anything.
When he didn’t answer, Thea stepped into the room and closed the door behind her with a quiet click. “What’s happened?”
He drained his whiskey and poured another measure into his glass from the decanter sitting on his desk. “What would you say, Thea, if I told you I intend to close Cleves Court, after all? What if I told you I wanted us to leave for London together tomorrow, and never see this house again?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’d do whatever I had to do to change your mind.”
“Whatever you had to do,” he repeated. He’d known it, but hearing her say it aloud was like a blade slicing into his heart. “Take me into your bed, you mean? Would you try and convince me you loved me, so I’d keep Cleves Court open?”
Thea’s face went pale. “I—how can you ask me that?”
“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.” He lingered on the last word, twisting it into something ugly. “It’s a simple question. Tell me, Thea. How far would you go to save this house?”
For a long time she didn’t answer. She looked down at her hands, clenched into fists in front of her, but at last she whispered. “It’s not about the house anymore, Ethan. It never was, really. You’re asking the wrong question.”
“Oh? Enlighten me then, won’t you? What’s the right question?”
She drew in a deep breath, and when she raised her eyes to meet his, her gaze never wavered. “You should ask me how far I’d go to saveyou.”
“Me?” His laugh was bitter. “The best thing for me would be to leave this house forever, and never look back. I’d only ever keep it open for you, and you knew that all along, didn’t you?”
“No. You can’t lock your memories away, Ethan.” She came around the desk, knelt at his feet, and took his hands in hers. “Don’t you see? You can close Cleves Court, and leave Cornwall forever, but you’ll take all this hurt with you. You can’t outrun your ghosts.”
He jerked his hands away. “I’ve done a bloody good job of it so far. London’s a long way from Cornwall, love.”
“It’s not far enough. No place is. You think you can run from your past, or lock it away by locking the doors of Cleves Court, but there’s only one way to make your peace with such intense grief, and that’s to go through it. Your father knew it. By the time he faced the truth, it was too late for him, but—”
“My father? Don’t talk to me about my father. He was a bloody coward.”
