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The Viscount’s Vice

Page 111

by Wendy LaCapra

“They hadn’t,” she said. “Not so long as I believed you’d be able to love me, too.”

He wet his lips. “Believed? Past tense?”

“I’m no longer convinced.”

The words had come out of her mouth before she’d completely considered their implication.

Now, however, she could not take them back, nor was she certain she should. She wasn’t certain of anything but the untamable ache inside.

“What are you saying?” he whispered.

Again, she fell silent, unable to say she didn’t want him, and equally unable to say she did.

He tilted his head up toward the window. Faint strains of lighthearted music—mocking music—wafted down. Candlelight, both from the streetlamps and from the chandeliers within the hall, made ghostly patterns dance over his impassive face.

“I tried forcing you to confront your feelings,” she said. “I failed.”

“No. I'm the one to blame.”

Lord have mercy. Had he just confirmed that he could not love her?

Tears, made cold by the winter air, gathered between her lashes. “If my parents taught me anything, it was that ignoring a secret doesn’t make it go away.” She wiped her face. “I never want to be my mother—just a pin for father’s cravat. A bauble. She was not real to him, just like I am not real to you.”

He made a low, angry sound. “Oh, you’re real.”

“You told me I was enough.” But she loved him with all her heart, and that hadn’t been enough. “You lied.”

He looked away. “No, I did not.”

An internal struggle was plain on his face, a struggle she suspected was motivated by honor and duty alone.

A gentleman did not bed a lady, especially his ward, and then walk away.

“You can’t force me to marry you,” she said under her breath.

He glanced back, eyes fierce. Then, he seemed to deflate.

“The Lord Chancellor was correct.” He nodded to himself. “You should have your Season.” He produced a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a derisive snort, but completely without mirth. “That’s the decent, kind, wonderful thing to do.”

She gasped. What was wrong with him? How breathtakingly mean to use her words against her!

“You,” her gaze narrowed, “and your secrets and your circumspection and your fortitude.”

He blanched.

His silence confirmed her deepest fears. She’d given herself, her body, and her entire life, to a man who could never be what she needed.

She was not safe with him, nor would she ever be. And nothing could make him happy.

“But I am happy to be free,” she finished the thought, though a lie, aloud.

“Free?” He frowned. “You’re not free. Lenora, your happiness has always been my chief concern.”

Bother him. He would not make her pine for him when he’d just savaged her heart. She turned to walk away, but he placed a hand against her arm.

“I know I don’t have a right to ask anything of you, but time is of the essence, and I truly need your help.”

She scowled. “In what way?”