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"Nonsense," she snapped, shocked that she could even manage that. His words were swimming toward her through dark water. She'd heard them come from his mouth, but now it seemed they were approaching again, the reality of them, the feel.
Her face tingled and went numb, then her neck and her chest. Soon her whole body was a husk, lifeless and dead. "Nonsense," she tried to whisper.
Hart was moving toward her and she could not stop him. Her limbs were paper, weak and useless.
His hot hands rose to cradle her face. Long fingers eased into
her hair, spreading tingles over her scalp. "I could love you, Emma. I could. If we married, it would not be an arrangement, a means of creating heirs and legacies. It would be more. We would argue and laugh and love. You would drive me mad and I would irritate you to no end. We have so much passion. We would scandalize the ton and enjoy every minute of it."
Each word had snuck closer to her lips, until he breathed her name into her mouth. "Emma . . ." He brushed a delicate kiss, then pressed into her, his tongue offering a small, slow taste.
Her heart bloomed, the stone cracked, and pain poured deep into her soul. Emma jerked back, pushed him away. "Stop it. Stop."
Those damned beautiful eyes stared at her, still swimming with tender lust, soft and hot as sin. Emma wanted that softness gone before it swallowed her whole.
"You are ridiculous," she spat. "You speak of my childhood as if it were horrid, yet you would drag me back into that kind of hell. I know who you are, what you are. You are just like my father."
"No! No, I never was."
"You think I would deign to marry a man like you? How long before you would be sniffing after some other woman, or two or three for that matter?"
The softness was fading but there was no anger yet. "I would not—"
"Don't deny it. You are a rake and a reprobate. A connoisseur of women. Do not even claim that I would be your last."
"I will not deny that I have had lovers, but I have never been married, never even betrothed. I know what your father was like, but I promise—"
"You know what my father was like because you were well acquainted." She saw the ice forming over his eyes, saw the way he'd drawn straight, holding himself with rigid dignity. Emma moved in for the kill. "You are just like him, Hart. Do you know how I know? Because you showed me in your chambers. You whispered it to me in your bed."
Shutters of blue metal seemed to snap into place over his gaze. Any semblance of the man who'd just spoken of love vanished with those few words.
Emma smiled. "And in case that is not enough evidence for either of us, let me make it even simpler. I would never love you. My childhood was no childhood at all. There were far too many predatory men prowling down the halls, searching for any thrill they could find. Do you know what it is like to lie in bed in the darkest part of night and listen to a monster test the knob of your door? Do you know what it is like to pray for that lock to hold?
"And then . . ." She took a deep breath. "Then I'd wake in the morning, and those parties did not end at dawn. So sometimes I'd spy, because it seemed better than wondering. But I shouldn't have. Those men, those parties, they ruined my world, Hart, and you were part of that."
Horror and fury warred for control of his face. "I was never one of those men."
"Not at my door, perhaps, but I remember you quite clearly. In my father's home. In a dark hallway. I saw you there. I saw you. So you see, Hart, it's simple. We could never marry, because you disgust me."
Even past his shield she saw the bright, stunning shock of pain that flashed over his face. Then it was gone, locked tight away from the world. He was gone, vanished without taking a step.
"Now please leave here," she managed to say. "And if you ever cared for me, never come back again."
He stood, not even breathing. Seconds passed, dragged on like years, until finally he inclined his head. His jaw ticked forward. "As you wish."
He took a few steps across her small home and he was gone. Out of her life. Him and his ridiculous, horrible promises. Gone.
Emma waited for the sound of his carriage pulling around in a circle. Once the wheels had crunched away into silence, she opened the door and walked slowly to the cliff path. Rocks tried to trip her. Gravel rolled beneath her shoes, but Emma stumbled on.
She did not slow at the bottom of the trail, but walked straight into the creeping tide. The water chilled her feet and legs, but she dropped to her knees and let the waves lap at her waist.
So many dangers had loomed over her for so long. She'd tempted disaster when she'd become Hart's lover, risked so many things. But she'd never anticipated the chance that someone could love her. Or that she could love him back.
Yes, they could love each other. And that would make the inevitable betrayal so much worse when it came. A man like Hart, beautiful and sexual and always given what he wanted . . . he would be the worst kind of husband. Exactly the husband she'd always feared.
So she knelt and waited for the sea to numb her breaking heart and wash her sins away.
The day had faded to the purple haze of dusk before Emma dragged herself back to the shore and up the path. The sea had offered no peace, and Emma wondered if it ever would again.
