She spun around. “Don’t pretend you haven’t done that, too! You would have bought me.” She threw up her arms. “You basically did!” She was shouting now, but she couldn’t stop.
“I thought you wanted to be with me,” he whispered.
“I could never be with someone like you.”
The moment she’d spoken the words, she clenched her eyes shut. She knew how painful it would be for him to hear that, but she’d said it, anyway. She opened her eyes and looked at him but immediately regretted it. His face had gone cold.
Her heart squeezed. She’d done this, made the man she loved miserable.
“I see.” Cordon removed a heavy purse from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Your payment, Miss Carter.”
She wanted to cry out. Say she hadn’t meant it. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. It was as if she’d frozen in place as he strolled out of the shop, leaving her alone with the latest payment he had promised.
For once in her life, she didn’t care about money.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cordon picked upthe glass of champagne beside his seat in his private box at the opera and drained it. The bubbly liquid burned his throat. Two days had passed since his fight with Kitty, and he still winced whenever he remembered what he’d said. He was too accustomed to dealing with his siblings when they came to him in a similar agitated state, but they were used to his frankness. She wasn’t.
The liquor soured in his stomach.
Thinking about Kitty was a waste of time. She wanted nothing to do with someone likehim. He didn’t even need to know what she’d meant, as his mind eagerly provided a list of reasons they were incompatible.
He was a viscount. A vampire.Dying.
He tried continuing his list without her, walking the streets of Whitechapel at night. It was a dangerous activity that should have been thrilling, but it only made him tired and anxious. He’d tried flirting with Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting, but the enthusiastic response he’d received hadn’t stirred his passions. Everything reminded him of Kitty. It was like the richness of life had faded with her rejection.
He put his chin in his hand and covered his mouth to hide his yawn. The production wasLurline. He always attended the opera when it was being performed, but today, he felt ahollowness in his stomach when he looked at the empty seat beside him.
Maybe if he asked Kitty—No, there he was doing it again. She had made her desires clear, and he had to respect that. He closed his eyes and tried to let the orchestra take him away. It was an excellent group, but still, she appeared in his mind. Kitty blushing as he offered to show her all manner of sensual delights, scowling at his tented trousers, moaning as he thrust inside her sweet quim.
He withdrew his throbbing cock and worked himself until he was sweating and squirming in his seat, but the thrill didn’t come. He was surrounded by hundreds of people who might turn their gaze to his box at any moment, but he felt nothing but a burgeoning pressure in his abdomen.
If Kitty had been here, she would have used her mouth and fingers to bring him pleasure. She would have crawled onto her lap and ridden him with that sly smile. She would have fallen to her knees with a wink that betrayed her false irritation.
It wasn’t the same without her.
He tucked himself away and leaned back. When the opera ended, he would return home and make his final arrangements. There was no need to wait for death. He would embrace it with open arms and walk into the sun.
“Moping?”
He jerked in his seat. His nest sister Helena sat beside him, sipping a glass of wine. She wore another of her black-and-silver striped suits, and her thick, curly hair was done up in a tight chignon.
“Have you come to chastise me?” he asked.
She set down her glass. “You think so little of me.”
He scoffed. It was terribly rude, but he’d come to the opera to lose himself in despair. He had no desire to sit through another session of being questioned about his romantic pursuits. Fiftyyears he’d tried and failed to find his betrothed. Now he no longer cared, because if he could not have Kitty, he didn’t want anyone.
Helena brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Lucina is worried about you. She asked me to come.” She pursed her lips. “I told her you were a grown man and didn’t require coddling, but she insisted.”
That meant he would not be left alone until Helena was satisfied. “What do you want?”
“To know you have not given up.” She reached over and clasped his shoulder. “We’ve already lost Marcus. We cannot lose you too.”
Marcus, who was the strongest in their nest but had been locked in self-inflicted exile for a decade. He had the right idea, accepting death in solitude. Soon there would be nothing left of Marguerite’s nest. Still, Marcus would not have wanted to be referred to in such a bleak manner.
“You speak as if Marcus were dead,” he said.
