“Oh, you remembered.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “About that. I . . . that is . . . well.”
I understood all too well that not everything was easy to speak out loud. Whether it was about why she had become a governess, or a man she had once loved, or even that she was Irish—or partIrish since she had no accent, I was certain that I had to confess first or my heart would rupture from the mounting pressure in my chest. “Perhaps I should start.”
“Yes, please.”
I smiled at her obvious relief. “All right. Besides overcoming your fear of horses, there was another challenge we made that day in the garden. One where I said I would tell you about my horse accident if you told me how you became a governess.”
She swallowed. “I remember.”
An uncomfortable tension pulled between us, and I had a feeling that what we said would either bring us together or drive us apart. Regardless, it had to happen. We could not move forward with secrets between us. “I want to tell you about my . . . accident.”
She urged me with her riveted gaze to continue.
Nerves caused the muscles in my back to tighten, and my whirling thoughts built inside of me, threatening to burst out at once. There was so much to say. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t?”
I shook my head, hoping she would understand—needing her to understand. She had taken a chance on me once before—and I prayed she would see my faults with the same grace. I took a fortifying breath. “Before you met me, I wasn’t a good person.” I wasn’t certain where to begin, but it made sense to tell it all. She deserved to know. “I loved playing cards. And I was good at it. At only twelve at Harrow, I could outwit the older boys. Winning became an obsession to me. I did not care who I played so long as I won.”
“I wish I could say that I always played fairly. Sometimes I dream of the faces of the men I collected money from, their desperation . . . the fear painted in their features. I had no need of my winnings with my sizableinheritance, but I told myself that it was just a game, and they had agreed to play.”
Looking at Estelle was impossible. I averted my gaze and kept talking, afraid if I stopped, I would not be able to start again. “Then one night, I left the gambling hell earlier than normal, in a sour mood. I did not fall off a horse that night. I was pulled off by a group of men. They wanted to kill me.”
Estelle gasped.
I still could not look at her. “I don’t know the names or faces of my attackers, but I am certain I deserved it.”
“Atlas! How can you say that?”
I reluctantly met her gaze—shocked just as I had imagined. “There are bad people in this world. I was one of them.”
She shook her head. “No. You aren’t like that.”
It hurt to see her denial. I wished I could take it all back or pretend I was someone who I was not. Someone better. “You have a right to know the whole of me.”
Silence fell between us, broken only by the chirping of swallows. She was processing my confession, while I was regretting it. Why did I think someone as sweet and pure as Estelle would ever be able to overlook my past? It had come to the moment that I was to reveal the rest of the story. The part where I was certain our two paths had collided for a reason.
And I could not.
As I stared into her beautiful, precious brown eyes, realization settled over me like a heavy weight pressing on my soul. Estelle had everything in the world to recommend herself. Talent and charm radiated from her in abundance, but there was more. Indeed, a rare and precious gift—her unique ability to care deeply even when everyone else had given up. It was a quiet strength, as faint as the rustle of the leaves in the soft breeze,but as fierce as any. Someone so remarkable deserved only the very best life had to offer.
And as much as I cared for her, I could never deserve her.
The faint smell of roses mocked me, their romantic scent a lie. Estelle needed someone selfless, without a past, and strong enough to match her brilliance. Not a man with my many weaknesses—the way I pushed people away, withdrew into myself, and suspected the world to hurt me. I would always be looking over my shoulder like a coward.
I turned my gaze away from her so she would not see the admiration, the longing, the way I ached for her.
“Atlas, I—”
I held up my hand. “My words have unsettled you and rightly so. Please, take time to consider my confession. You need not feel pressured because of your own promise to share. There will be time enough to finish our discussion. For now, I find I am not well and need to rest.” I ignored the confusion in her eyes and pushed to my feet.
“Atlas, please. Stay.”
I brushed my hands on my trousers. “I can guess what you’ll say. You’ll be merciful in your judgment—which is too generous, I assure you. Your assessment of my character will be clearer after you’ve had time to mull over what I have shared.”
Then I turned and walked away.
Chapter 32
