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He knew everything, had ferreted out all her lies. Emma's mouth went bone dry. He was drawing this out, torturing her like a cat tortur
es a mouse. "What do you want?"
"Emma, I . . ." The words broke away on a sigh and he glanced at the chair behind him. When he dropped into it, Emma realized how very disturbed he was. He had probably never taken a seat before a lady in his whole life. This wasn't an act. He stared up at her, unaware of the emotion he'd betrayed.
He whispered, "I believed your lies in London." "Yes."
"And I treated you as a widow."
"Yes."
"I did things I shouldn't have done. Said things to you. . ."
How strange men were. Out of everything, this was his greatest upset? As long as some other man had taken her maidenhead, Hart had felt her deserving of all manner of lust. But her virginity had transformed her into some other being, someone more worthy than who she'd really been.
"Lay your guilt aside, Hart, if that's what it is. I was a maiden, but I was no innocent. . . in case you could not tell."
"You could not have known the—"
"Of course I knew." She was trying to show disdain through her look, but as the seconds passed it grew more difficult. His eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, were normally so shielded. But now she could see everything in them: worry and pain and knowledge, and a dawning horror. And then softness that wanted to pull her in and make everything better.
Emma backed a step away.
"In your father's home—" he started.
"Don ‘t"
He closed his mouth, but his eyes stayed the same, telling her things, making her feel.
He had wanted her body before, but now she was different. Now she wasn't like his other women, she was pure and vulnerable and weak. She was a damsel in distress. A little girl wandering the dark halls where monsters roamed.
In his eyes was everything she'd ever wanted as a girl, everything she'd given up on years before. Emma had grown weary of waiting for rescue. She'd had to rescue herself and she would never forget that.
"Emma—"
"I may have been a virgin, Hart, but I was not the least bit innocent, so wipe that regret from your eyes. If that's all you came to express, then you've done it. I absolve you. You may leave."
"That's hardly why I came, and you do not have the power to absolve me, so—"
"Why did you come? Why? Just tell me. Say what you need to say so that we may both—"
His soft voice broke through her tantrum. "I need to know."
She froze, hand caught midair in its dramatic sweep. "Know what?"
"I need to know why you did it. Why did you come to London and pretend to be Denmore's widow? Why gamble your way through London and masquerade as a scandalous woman? Why . . . why did you come to my house that night, Emma? And why did you leave?"
His eyes wouldn't let her go. They begged for answers and sympathy. She could give him one but not the other.
"I came to London for money, Hart, nothing else. I'd inherited a small amount from my great-uncle and I needed more. Gambling seemed the best way to get it."
"The best way? To become a fraud? Lie and cheat? Risk imprisonment?"
"Would you have had me become a courtesan?"
"As if that were your only option! You were a young noblewoman in need. And the Osbournes adored you. If you had only explained, asked for assistance, they would have been happy to sponsor you, give you a place to live."
"Oh, what a glorious idea from the wealthy man. To live as a supplicant, begging for scraps. Yes, they liked me well enough, I suppose they would have taken me in as a pet. And then what? A short career of obedience until they found a gentleman desperate enough to marry me? And what an ingrate I would be to turn him down."
