She gave a laugh. The sound of it did something to him he was not prepared for.
“No,” she said quietly. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“Isadora—”
“I should have remembered what this marriage was.” She clasped her hands together in front of her. He could see the slight tension in them, the effort of keeping them still. “An arrangement, nothing more. I should have… I should have held onto that more carefully.”
“You think I went to London to see Caroline Pembley.”
“I think you went to London, and she was there the following evening.” She looked at a point past his shoulder. “What I think beyond that is irrelevant.”
“It is entirely relevant.”
“Please don’t insult us both by denying it.”
“I am not denying anything because there is nothing to deny.” He took another step towards her. “She came. I sent her away. That is the complete and accurate account, and I need you to look at me while I say it.”
She did not look at him.
“Look at me,” he pressed.
She shook her head.
“Isadora.” He took another step forward. He was close enough now that he could see what the composed expression was costing her, the slight color across the bridge of her nose, the sheen in her eyes. “I did not invite her. I do not want her. I have not wanted her or anyone else since—” He broke off. The words were right there. He had been carrying them for hours. “Since before you would be comfortable hearing.”
She looked at him then.
“You have spent years wanting women like Caroline Pembley, so forgive me if I find it difficult to believe that this occasion was somehow different.”
“It was.”
“Why?”
Because I have not been the same man since you became my wife. You are the only woman who matters to me.
The words struck him with such force that he almost spoke them aloud. His heart pounded against his ribs.
He looked at her. She was waiting.
He only had to say it. He only had to tell her the truth.
“I…” His voice faltered.
She watched him for another moment before looking away.
“I told myself I understood what this was.” Her voice was still even. It was the evenness of something held with great effort. “I told myself I expected nothing beyond… beyond the arrangement. Beyond what we agreed on.” Something moved through her expression. “The unfortunate thing about expectations is that the heart rarely consults them.”
The words landed hard.
He opened his mouth.
“I am not finished,” she cut him off, her voice cracking on the last word. “I knew who you were. I have known who you were for years. Charming and careless and… and brilliant at making people feel as though they are the only thing in the room. I knew that. I had cataloged it.” Her jaw tightened. “And I let myself believe that it was different. That I was…”
She smiled then. It was the saddest smile he had ever seen.
“That was my mistake. I am not… I am not blaming you for it. You told me plainly what this was. You told me that it would not be romantic, and I told you myself that the marriage was not real. You agreed with me, because it was true, and then I—” She looked away. “And then I behaved as though none of it was true, which was foolish. I would simply like to go to Blackmoor now.”
“You are not foolish,” he protested.
