Page 25 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘Of course.’ Evander remained standing by the chair, not moving towards her, though she could tell from the way he leaned forward that he wanted to.

‘Do you know that even after a year went by I still thought you would come back?’ she asked. ‘I still look at men who pass me on the street and wonder if they’re you. If you’d returned and I’d somehow missed it.’ She shook her head to clear the tears before they could start. ‘London is not the way you described it,’ she added bitterly. ‘Not when you are at its mercy rather than holding its reins.’

She turned from him and went to a small table with a decanter, pouring two glasses of fine whisky.

‘I was paraded through Vauxhall Gardens like a purchased doll.’

She strode to him and pushed the glass into his hand. He accepted it, but did not drink, his eyes wide and brimming with hurt. Good. It was his turn to feel the teeth of that bite.

She did drink. With a swirl of the amber liquid and a delicate tilt, she drank a mouthful and let it burn all the way down.

‘I experienced the opera as a dancer, with men gazing lewdly down my bodice and offering to share my bed. And when I was fortunate enough to find myself off the stage, and in one of those coveted boxes, I did not have the luxury of actually watching the opera.’

He swallowed.

‘You think you understand what I went through in your absence, but you do not,’ she said. ‘It is impossible for you to possess even a modicum of understanding for what I endured as that year you promised came and went. I found myself in terrible desperation, and the one place where I sought help...’

Her voice clogged. She should tell him. Now.

‘The choices I faced when I realised...’

Tell him.

Except doing so was impossible. She could not salvage enough of her heart to do so.

‘God, you must hate me,’ Evander whispered. Tears clung, unshed, to his lower lashes.

‘I don’t hate you,’ Lottie said, more softly than she liked. She stepped closer and the scent of sandalwood caught her awareness. The subtle notes of his cologne struck her like a blacksmith’s hammer, knocking her back to when they had been young and in love and she had been lost in naïve happiness.

He still smelled the same.

Pain crumpled in her chest. ‘I could never hate you.’

And she could not—not when she still loved him.

She wanted to fall towards him, to feel his arms around her once more and see if they were still as strong as they looked. For years she had been her own pillar of support. How would it feel to allow someone else to offer fortitude?

Her resolve was faltering. She couldn’t stay here. Coming had been a mistake.

‘But I can never forgive you,’ she said sharply. ‘Nor can I ever trust you again.’

Evander opened his mouth, but she set her glass aside and started to walk away. She’d said what was needed. At least most of it. There would be time later for the rest. When she found the courage that had failed her so terribly just now.

She opened the door and his voice interrupted her departure. ‘I’m sorry, Lottie.’

I’m sorry.

It truly was a paltry consolation. Words so empty they could never fill the void inside her.

She pushed out of the study and made her way to her bedchamber, half expecting he would come after her.

And perhaps even half hoping.

Evander stared at the closed door. The cut crystal glass had gone warm in his palm and the click of the door latch still seemed to echo in the room, tangling with the memory of what she’d told him.

His stomach coiled into a sickening knot. An opera dancer. So that was how it had all begun for her.

He knew Lottie better than anyone. Or at least he had. She would have waited for him, steadfast and loyal. No doubt becoming a dancer was the last resort after she’d clung to several more months awaiting him. And after such employment, finding a reputable husband would be difficult.