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l so large and vulnerable in comparison.
He'd confessed to liking her, after all, and nothing more than that.
His voice interrupted her painful thoughts. "I'll say my farewell."
She looked up, startled, and found that they were standing before the conservatory door now. Their walk was done. Jude smiled down at her.
"But you said tomorrow."
"Today I must pack and send letters to my father and to the vineyard. Perhaps I'll invite my mother for a visit in Italy. She loves the sun there."
"Your mother ..." Marissa latched onto the topic, desperate to keep him talking. To keep him standing there, his arm solid beneath her fingers. "Where in France does she live?"
"She lives on a quiet little street at the outskirts of Paris."
"Is that where you were raised?"
"Yes." He knew what she was doing. His voice had lost its playfulness, and he glanced toward the door with a hint of impatience.
But she couldn't give up. The moment she stopped talking would be the end. The end of his visit, yes, but more than that it would be the end of them together.
"Does she have a ... a companion right now?"
Jude relented and offered a slight smile. "No. She only keeps male friends on her own terms now. She's still beautiful, but she says she's too old to worry over pleasing men."
"She sounds very wise."
"Yes. She goes to the ..." She'd had him for a moment. But Jude caught himself midsentence
and shook his head. "We'll speak about this some other time."
"When?" she asked in a voice that sounded too much like pleading.
"I'm sure I'll return soon. How could I resist?" But she read the insincerity in his words. They were meant to make her smile. There was no promise in them. He didn't mean to come back.
"Good-bye, Marissa," he said.
The sound of her name urged her up to her toes, and Marissa dared to press a kiss to his mouth.
He was stone beneath her lips, rigid and cool. He did not warm to her, did not open. And Marissa blinked back tears as she settled back to the earth, her mouth burning with shame.
He looked away from her and reached to open the door. She stood there for a moment, but Jude staled out at the gardens instead of at her. He wanted her to believe this farewell meant less than nothing to him.
And in those few heartbeats, she did.
Chapter 23
After dinner, Marissa escaped to her room as soon as she was able. She'd never have entered the dining room at all if not for the hope that Jude would be there.
She'd told herself that if he came to dinner it would be a sign. A signal to her that he might still care. After dinner, she would be brave and request a stroll through the conservatory.
But Jude hadn't come down to dinner. And it had been all Marissa could do not to burst into tears over the barley soup. He was gone already, really. And she missed him with a fierceness that turned every morsel of food dry and bitter in her mouth.
It had been up to Harry to create cheer over dinner, and between him and Marissa's mother, the talk had been lively. Marissa had managed a few smiles for Harry's sake. She felt guilty for having even discussed that he might have been disloyal. Harry had been the one to stay by Aidan's side during those first awful days of grieving. And when
Aidan had gone off to London to drown his sorrows, Harry had been there to ensure Aidan did not end up murdered in a slum somewhere. Marissa was not supposed to know these things, of course, but she'd stolen looks at Edward's correspondence.
So she should never have doubted Harry, and her regret kept her with her family through dinner, at least. But now, at nine o'clock, she stood impassively in front of her mirror and let her maid ready her for bed.
