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“Urs—I didn’t—I’m—”
“When did you decide to leave me?” The catch in her voice as she indicated to the luggage splayed about the room overwhelmed the anger, shredding his innards.
He hung his head. A weight pressed on his chest. How to explain? Everything had happened so fast and to tell her would mean he’d have to confess and she couldn’t know. She’d never understand. She was strong, like her uncle said, too strong. Better to let her believe he was a cad than permit her to see what he really was.
“Is it about this? About my mother? Before, with my father—you knew—you knew—you knew about me.” She pointed at him. “How did you know? You knew and you said nothing.” The tears started again, but she made no effort to wipe her face. “You let me find out when my uncle and Lydia, of all people, showed me that horrible article.”
“Urs.” He scrambled to his feet and reached for her.
She pushed him away, hugging her body instead.
“I trusted you, Jay. I trusted you with all of me, with everything and you kept this from me, and now you’re going to leave at the first opportunity.” Her body shook with every word.
Rage seared inside him. How could she not know he was protecting her before he could do more damage?
Leaving at the first opportunity? If that was it he’d have abandoned her days ago. He’d be in a fog right now, a beautiful, peaceful fog instead of permitting her to tear chunks of his flesh.
Jay moved in front of her. “That was the plan. You were to marry Hugo and I was to leave.” He spat the words.
“And you wouldn’t want to go against the plan.” She lifted her head and glared. “Nothing has changed, has it? At least not for you. Nothing over these past few weeks changed anything. Not the conversation with Hugo, not what I did with you, not what I said to you.”
“That’s not—Urs—I swear—” He ran his fingers through his hair as pressure forced the flood just behind his eyes.
The lump rose through his neck into his jaw, as he blinked and stared. Liquid streamed down her checks, a storm, not a drizzle. Her face, blast, her face.
The truth twisted the knife, the blade jagged and worn from use on his soul. She thought she loved him.
No.
He should shake her. This was the worst of all possible worlds. It was one thing for him to become infatuated with her, to believe he could win her, but now, he knew, after three days, he knew. He’d never be what she needed.
He was a monster. He was leaving her unprotected. She was always the girl who didn’t fit and now she’d be the girl who was rejected by two men. Jay shuddered as Bernard’s words echoed in his ears. Unfair but true and for her to face it all alone, head held high, but hearing every whisper.
He lifted his foot off the shreds of bloody clothing and mass of untidy belongings. Whatever she’d endure before her family took her to Europe had to be better than being saddled with him. If he’d ever proven he was worthless and useless—even fighting his cravings he’d let her down—abandoned her.
“It would never work,” he blurted.
“Why?” The word was a whisper of tears.
He ran to her and gripped her elbows even as she wriggled in his arms, full sobs overtaking her.
“Because I’ll fail you. Because that’s who I am. I’ve already failed you. I ruin things. I can’t be trusted, Urs. You need someone strong and I’m the exact opposite.”
Her curls jiggled as his shakes transferred onto her. She wrenched herself from his gasp and wagged a finger at him, blue fire raging.
“Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You’re the strongest person I know. I trust you with everything in my being, with my life, with my father’s life. How can you not see that?”
Had she gone mad? He certainly hadn’t bewitched her, but she had to be drunk or daft. Tears streamed down his cheeks even as a harsh chuckle escaped his lips.
“You have no idea, Urs.” He shook his head. “No idea how truly weak and worthless I am. There are things, things I’ve done, that I’ll probably do again, that would—”
“You mean the opium pipe and the laudanum?” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You may not be a fool, but I’m not one either.”
“How long have you known?” Sweat beaded on his brow.
“I have an excellent sense of smell. And I spent my childhood around someone very ill.
“And then, your parents made comments...and everything made sense. Why else would they have sold that wing of Truitt Industries? Not that it’s such a tragedy—I’ve never trusted the stuff. I’ve never heard anyone ‘cured’ of anything from it. Profited off of, but not cured. It made my mother comfortable, but vague at the end, nothing more. Nunes doesn’t profit from the suffering over others, well, certainly not the physical suffering.”
