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"Y-yes...yes! But gentlemen often do such things for their paramours while infatuation lasts. You never indicated you would consider me as more than a long-term...friend. Never!"
"Of course I..." His words trailing off, Evan rubbed a hand over his brow. "Perhaps I didn't, not in so many words. But neither did you encourage a declaration of love! On the contrary, the warmest avowal you ever made was to assure me of your 'constant affection.' I hoped you'd come to love me, at least a little, but I never knew for sure. I suppose I didn't wish to look the fool, blurting out love for one who saw me only as a...debt that must be paid."
"Oh, Evan, I—"
"You can't deny 'twas that at first! Had I not wanted you so desperately, I'd have been too insulted to accept. But I did want you." His strident voice gentled. "I never stopped wanting you. And when you insisted we must part—well, you certainly gave a convincing demonstration of a woman ready to move on to a new lover."
"I thought it kinder. For us both. As I could not tolerate being—what I would have become, better to end in a manner that made you angry enough to put me out of mind for good and all."
He laughed softly. "I concluded as much, once my rage cooled. But I've learned to my misery that nothing will drive you out of my mind for good and all."
He shook his head, as if bemused. “Had I known your birth outranked my own, I'd never have let you send me away. I would have courted you relentlessly, until you accepted me just to stop the aggravation."
Despite the rigid hold she maintained over her heart, a rebellion of joy swept through her. He would have wed her? Reason soon damped it down.
"No, my darling Evan, you would not. Duke's daughter or no, I was a portrait painter turned shopkeeper, acknowledged by neither my own family nor my husband's. A man who did not care whether he was received or not might dare marry such a female. An earl who was one of the ton's leaders, who had a sister to present, could not."
He smiled wryly. "Perhaps. But—to feel such concern for my family's welfare, you must care for me?"
His wistful tone caught at her heart. "Yes. More than I dare admit even now, when it can make no difference."
"I love you, Emily-Auriana, by whatever name you call yourself. I think I've loved you from that first moment." Despite presence of herder and cows, he drew her hand up for a kiss. "If you care a fraction as much for me, it appears we've been working at cross-purposes. However valid our reasons for silence. Now that in Society's eyes you are no longer ineligible to become my wife—'tis too late."
The bittersweet truth of that struck them both to silence. No, Emily told herself fiercely as, horses trailing behind, they continued down the carriageway. You will not mourn what might have been.
Finally he halted, stopping her with him. "I've been racking my brain these last few minutes, but I see no way out. I cannot break the engagement—indeed, the wedding date should already have been fixed, had not Andrea gone off in some last-moment dither about the trousseau. She's a dear thing, and her brother was my best friend. I don't think she could survive my jilting her." He took a deep, painful breath. "I can't do it."
"Of course you cannot. No man of honor could." He said nothing she did not already know. Nor did she need to release what had never been hers.
"I should go now." Much as she hated to leave, knowing she dare not risk another meeting, there was nothing to be accomplished by prolonging the sweet torment of being with him. Especially when, herdsman, cows and all, desire still pecked at her will and curled heavy in her belly.
He'd been staring off across the greensward, but then his whole body alerted. He shifted his gaze back to her, his dark blue eyes once more intense. "You do intend to go out in Society?"
"I suppose. I consented to the presentation only because Rob argued that not to do so would seem to confirm the awful rumors about me. And because, as he insisted, Andrew would have wished me to. But..." she paused to flash him a challenging look "...I've every intention of maintaining my business, and you know how unfashionable that will be. Even for a duke's daughter. I daresay I shall not receive all too many invitations."
"With your talent you should continue. I certainly cannot see you an idle Society matron living on new gowns and gossip. But if you do go out, we are bound to meet."
She regarded his glowing eyes uneasily. What mischief was he hatching? "I suppose, though, should that occur I think it wiser if we avoid one another."
"Emily, I can't marry you now. Wishing cannot turn back the clock, but your being accepted in Society does offer us a new possibility. No, hear me out!" He stopped her automatic protest.
"Just consider this. I admit, before 'twas impossible for us to be seen together without all the world presuming the intimacy of our relationship. But don't you see, we can meet now without arousing comment—we will be meeting in any event. We could arrange a place—out of town if you prefer—where we could be together. Ah, my darling, you must realize when I offered for Andrea I made no promises of love. I pledged friendship and protection only, and she accepted on those terms. There are no vows between us loving you would break. As long as we are discreet, our being together will harm no one. There'll be no rumors, no threats to your son—"
"No honor," she interjected. "Evan, you may not have vowed love, but when you marry you must pledge fidelity. Fear of discovery was never the sole reason I sent you away. Our being together would break a holy oath, and that is fact. Neither you nor I can change it just by wishing."
"I love you, Emily!" he cried, his face once again impassioned. "Can you not compromise your stance even a little? For us and all we can mean to each other? Do you intend to condemn us to no more than chance conversation at some rout or ball or dinner? I shall not be able to live with that, I swear it!"
"I could not live with more."
Evan let out an explosive breath and paced away. After a few moments during which she stood, uncertain whether to ride away or wait, he walked back.
His face was calm and set now. Keeping his eyes averted, he said quietly, "I shall not harangue you further. I cannot see you just socially, Emily—I care too much. 'Twas torture waltzing with you, holding myself to a casual touch when I ached—'' His voice broke and he cleared his throat. She felt her own heart turn over.
“Meet me here tomorrow and we will plan a life together that, I swear to you, will hurt no one. If you cannot do that, then tell me goodbye. I must have your love—or see you not at all."
She looked at him, stunned. "That is my choice? A relationship in the shadows, or—nothing?"
“Tomorrow morning, seven of the clock. I pray you will be here. If not—'' at last he glanced at her, desperate yearning in his eyes ''—then may God keep you safe, my dearest Emily."
Without another word he caught up his reins, threw himself in the saddle and rode off.
For a long while she stood like a statue gazing after him.
******************************************************************
At seven the next morning she was still pacing her chamber.
Of course she could not meet him. What would be the point? She'd already refused to continue their relationship on similar terms. The fact that they might be seen in public without everyone immediately assuming her to be his mistress did not alter the essence of argument one whit.
Or did it? She'd ridden for hours in the Park yesterday before coming home, until her heart and mind were exhausted. Despite the foregone conclusion of her refusal, when she tried throughout the day to put aside all thought of his offer, an insidious voice kept whispering at her.
He'd never pledged love to his betrothed. He'd be breaking no vows.
Liaisons based on wealth and family connections were common among men of his rank. Love, if and when one experienced it, was often independent of marriage. As long as obligations were fulfilled, discretion was the only rule.
Was not their love as worthy, as valuable, as his commitment to his friend and family? For though she'd spent months denying it, her ungovernable passion for him in the Park and the staggering difficulty of turning her back on the joy and comfort he offered were finally forcing her to face the truth.
She loved him. Loved him completely, shared with him an immediate, wordless bond that was rare and beautiful. Did not so precious a link deserve to be cherished and preserved as much as a pledge based solely on duty and family obligation?
She'd had one love ripped from her by death. Why should she not now hold fast to the other, if doing so, as he pledged, would hurt no one?
No! She tried to shut out echoes of that seductive rationalization. They would be breaking a vow to God, if not to Andrea. Even though it meant the agony of snuffing out her newborn love, she could not do that.
But as the clock chimed three-quarters past, she went to her wardrobe and threw on her riding habit.
Evan would be gone by the time she reached the park, Emily knew. That was as well; she couldn't bear to meet him. But neither could she envision calmly descending to the breakfast parlor, chatting with Natalie about her work or the visitors her sister-in-law wished her to receive.
Within a few moments she was guiding her mare back through the park entrance. Here, where an hour earlier he had walked and ridden, where the calm air might still hold something of the vital essence of him, she could have the solitude she craved to mourn the love she had only just acknowledged and now must live out her life denying.
