His nod was jerky. “The door was locked. All I could think was that she was trapped in there, and I should’ve realized the danger it posed.”
Slowly, his hands curled into fists on either side of the plate. “Keith tried to stop me, but I kenned I had to get her out.” His voice was curiously devoid of emotion. “The door was impassable, of course, but by that time, the back half of the building—where she painted—wasalmost gone, so it was easy enough to break through the wall.”
The thought of him throwing himself into danger that way for the woman he loved made Bonnie’s throat close up and her eyes fill with tears. Blindly, she groped for his hand, but ended up knocking against her cup and splashing dark coffee across the tablecloth.
Neither seemed to notice, and his hand twisted under hers until he was gripping her just as tightly, his attention still on the uneaten pastry between them.
His voice sounded mechanical as he told the rest of his story. “I remember the smoke and the heat from the flames. I ignored them all, pushing forward, shouting her name until the fire took my voice from me as well. Something fell from above—a beam, already aflame, they told me later—and landed across my shoulder. Keith was the one who’d dragged me out.”
She could feel his pulse pounding against hers as their palms crushed into one another.
“And Rose?” she whispered.
His hazel eyes, haunted by loss, lifted to meet hers. He shook his head, and Bonnie exhaled.
“I’ll never forgive myself, Bonnie.”
“It was not your fault.”
His expression didn’t change. “Of course it was. It was my fault for not seeing how much pain Rose was in. It was my fault for not recognizing her intent that morning when she kissed me goodbye. It was my fault that stupid lock was there. And it was my fault for failing to reach her in time.”
“Lyon, shelocked you out. She was not locked in; she knew what she was doing, and did not want you to stop her.”
He swallowed; his expression stricken. “I should’ve…”
She squeezed his hand. “It was her decision, Lyon.”
“I…” When he closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of looking at the world—ather—any longer, the scars on the left side of his face seemed to fade into the foreground, suddenly dominating his face. “I dinnae want to believe it was on purpose.”
Of course not. What kind of manwantedto believe his wife killed herself? Bonnie squeezed his hand again.
“Then do not believe it. You knew her better than anyone, Lyon, and even you were not able to understand the workings of Rose’s mind. Perhaps she was ill, or perhaps she had changed, or perhaps she was just careless that day. But no human being can see inside the mind of another, if that other is truly determined to hide themselves from him.”
Lyon opened his eyes, slowly focusing on her. “Ye… Do ye believe that?”
“I do not have to.” She offered him a sad smile. “Because it is true.”
“Do ye hide part of yerself from others?”
The question was unexpected enough to make her blink, and she shifted her gaze down to her coffee.
“I suppose not. It was always my mother’s bane that I was so poor at pretending to be a proper lady. I felt as if…” She shrugged, trying to explain herself. “I like to read and like to learn new things. I did notwantto have to hide that part of me, which my mother abhorred. I did notwantto hidemy dreams, or settle for something less, just because that was what I was told was the proper thing.”
“So ye dinnae hide yerself?”
Understanding dawned, and she met his eyes once more, lifting one of her brows in challenge. “Doyou?”
To her surprise, he immediately nodded. “I do. It wasnae on purpose, but after the fire, the doctors werenae sure I’d survive. My brothers were the ones who pulled Rose’s body from the ashes, and I was unconscious when she was interred in the family crypt. Keith was there with me, constantly, and he’s the reason I’m still alive. I can recall seeing myself in the mirror for the first time and understanding true horror.”
“Oh, Lyon—” Her voice caught, and she squeezed his hand again. “The scars are not so bad.”
One side of his lips twitched ruefully. “Ye didnae see me then, Bonnie. I was hideous. I let my hair grow out, thinking that would help, but…” He shook his head. “I’ve always been abrupt, I ken it, but my temper was horrible then. The doctors told me I wouldnae be able to use my arm again, and I was determined to prove them wrong.”
“The exercises and sparring with Keith?”
“Aye, and more. I ken I was a beast to live with, and slowly, I drove away my servants and friends. Once I realized what was happening, I embraced it, kenning that’s what I deserved.”
“No!” She leaned forward, trying to catch his attention and make him understand. “Youdodeserve love, Lyon, and companionship!”
