“And if I’m not?”She could understand his position on the matter, but what she couldn’t stand was him telling her what he will and won’t allow.That was just too much for her.
The question hung between them.Wesley's face went hard.
“I don’t know, Theodora.”
He turned and walked toward the garden gate—not back through the house, but away.Away from her, away from the mothers, away from everything.
“Wesley—”
The gate slammed behind him.
Thea stood frozen, the sound echoing across the garden.He was gone.And she didn't know if he was coming back.
Her mother would be waiting inside, expecting her to return and plaster on a fake smile through all the wedding planning.The duchess would have questions about why her son had left.
She couldn't face them.Not yet.
She sank onto the stone bench by the fountain and let the tears come.The same fountain where she'd kissed him.The same garden where she'd thought she might finally have everything she wanted.
She didn't know how long she sat there.Long enough for the sun to shift, for the shadows to lengthen.Long enough to cry until nothing was left.
When the tears stopped, her entire expression changed.Her nostrils flared and her face had gone red.
He had given her an ultimatum.That wasn't an act of love.
She'd spent years trying to escape her mother's expectations.She wasn't going to trade one prison for another with nicer furnishings, no matter how much she loved the man holding the key.
Thea wiped her face and stood.Her eyes were swollen, her heart still aching, but her spine was straight.
She walked back toward the house.Of course she would never carelessly put herself, or their families, in harm’s way.But she wasn't going to apologize for who she was.Not to her mother.Not to the duchess.
And not to Wesley.
If he wanted her, he would have to want all of her.The proper and the improper.The woman who loved him and the woman who refused to be caged.
If he couldn't accept that, then maybe he wasn't the man she thought he was.
Chapter 8
Wesley
Wesley'smotherwaswaitingfor him in his study when he finally returned home.
He hadn't gone home after leaving Thea in the garden.He'd walked for an hour, maybe two, through streets he didn't bother to track until the fury burned down to something worse—the agony of a man who'd just destroyed the only thing he wanted.By the time he climbed the steps to his townhouse, the afternoon had gone gray and his knuckles ached from clenching his fists.
Simmons met him in the foyer with that look.The one that meant his mother had arrived and taken the house in hand.
“Her Grace is in your study, Your Grace.She has been here for some time.”
Of course she had.The wedding planning had come to an abrupt end when Wesley walked out of the Hasting gardens, and his mother would have questions.And Lord knows how Thea explained his departure.
He found her seated in the chair nearest the fire, her posture rigid, a cup of tea untouched on the side table.She turned when he entered, and her gaze swept over him.
“You left without a word.”Her voice carried the particular frost she reserved for behavior that didn’t meet her expectations.“Lady Hasting was beside herself.I had to make your excuses, which I should not have to do.”
“I needed air.”
“Oh really?”She rose.“What happened, Wesley?What was so important that you would forget all of your good manners?”
