Page 91 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“So now you’re claiming you only want me, but you do not love me.”

“You know I love you. And it’s bloody painful.” He shoved his hands back through his hair. “This—” he jabbed his forefinger at the bed “—this does not heal all wounds. It only covers them up for a while, lets you forget, makes you feel as if anything is possible.”

“But it is possible.” She took a step closer, her voice entreating. “Just think, after all that has happened, all these years, here we are again. Together. We are meant to be together.”

“Fate has a cruel sense of humor then. Annabeth, none of what you’re saying matters. However much I love you, however much I want you, I cannot marry you. I’m not the boy you love. I have lied and broken laws and done things that would make you run from me.”

“That’s in the past. It doesn’t matter if you’ve changed. I have, too. I’m not trying to marry that boy. I know who you are. And I love you. Now. As you are.”

“You’ve seen my world.” He spread his arms out. “How I live. I didn’t just do those things in the past. I still step outside the law. Ask your friend Nathan. He’s seen me work. I have enemies. From the past, from the present. There are a number of people who would be more than happy to do me harm. They may be unwilling to risk attacking me physically, but they’ll know they can destroy me through my wife. You’d be in constant danger. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in that manner? To live always as you have the last few days?”

“I’ve managed, haven’t I?” Annabeth flared. “I think I’ve proven I’m not weak or cowardly or—”

“It’s not about you!” he thundered. “You aren’t weak. I am. You are my weakness.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Annabeth retorted, grabbing up her pelisse. “You are weak. I am willing to do whatever it takes to be with you. But you are too scared to fight for our love.”

Annabeth whirled and ran from the room.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SLOANE CURSED AND started after her. “Annabeth! Stop!”

Of course she didn’t listen to him. She was right; she didn’t care about danger. And she would do the opposite of anything he suggested at this moment. Sloane gestured to his foreman whom she had just run past. “Wilson. Go after her. Make sure she gets back home safely.”

Hopefully Annabeth wouldn’t take the man’s head off.

Sloane turned around and went back up the stairs to his office. Through his window, he could see Annabeth charging away, Wilson running after her. Then they turned a corner, and Annabeth was gone. Sloane sank into his chair and, bracing his elbows on the desk, dropped his head to his hands.

Well, he’d certainly bollixed that up. He no longer needed to dread never seeing Annabeth again; he’d already ensured that. He’d been a fool to give in to his desire. One last moment with her, indeed. One last pain to inflict was more like it.

If he’d just stepped back from her, if he’d just taken her home, he would have had...what? A few more days of yearning, of dread, of daydreaming like a schoolboy that everything would be all right. No. It was better to have made a clean cut like this. After this it wouldn’t matter what he said to her; even if he came crawling to her on hands and knees, she wouldn’t have him back. And it was better this way. She was safer this way.

Sloane scrubbed his hands over his face and sat back. He’d get no work done here today. He might as well go home. Perhaps he could waste the rest of the day playing some stupid card game with his father. But Marcus wouldn’t be there, of course; he was doubtless over at Lady Lockwood’s. It didn’t matter; Sloane could just spend the evening drinking brandy and give himself a brain-crushing hangover tomorrow.

Sloane left the office and walked away from the docks, heading home. He walked the rest of the way instead of hiring a hack. There was no need to hurry; nothing awaited him there. Nor did he care whether someone attacked him on the way. At the moment, he’d rather welcome a fight. But no attack came, and he entered the house unscathed and in the same black mood.

“Sloane, my boy,” Marcus called from the drawing room. “You’re just in time for tea.”

God, he really was getting desperate, being glad his father was at home. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be in a fevered low-stakes game of whist at Lady Lockwood’s.”

“No, that bloody dog of hers chewed right through one of my shoes, so I had to come change.”

Even in his present state, Sloane had to smile a little. “One would think that you might have noticed she was chewing on your shoe before she got all the way through.”

“I was on a hot streak. Didn’t realize what was going on until she sank one of her teeth into my toe.” Marcus handed his son a cup of tea and sat back, studying Sloane. “You’re home rather early.” When Sloane merely shrugged, he peered at him more closely, then groaned. “The devil! You’ve made a hash of it, haven’t you?”

Sloane gave him a sour look and sat down. “Yes. I’ve made a hash of it. All over again.” He shrugged. “It’s just as well. Better to make a clean cut than keep hacking away at something impossible.”

“I suppose. I try to avoid either of them.”

“Trust me, it’s easier.”

“Mmm-hmm. And you of course always take the easy way.” His father smirked in that annoying way of his.

Sloane decided to ignore his words. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Marcus. “Annabeth’s no longer involved in the case. I won’t need to see her again.” His lungs froze at the thought, but he ignored that, too. “I’ll work from the other end now. It doesn’t seem to be one of her father’s friends. Unless of course it’s Edgerton, but I still find that somewhat unlikely.”

“What isn’t Edgerton?” Marcus shook his head. “No, never mind. I don’t really want to know. I presume you’re chasing someone.”