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“The truth. Nothing more. Contrary to what thetonbelieves, I’m not some scheming termagant, only out to trap a husband into marriage by any means necessary.”
Halting at her words, he pinned her with his stare, his eyebrows lifting in challenge.
She threw up her hands and flashed him a grim smile. “Oh, very well. Iama termagant, and I do wish to find a husband.” She held up a finger. “But I do not wish to secure one by nefarious methods, which I’ve proven to you before.”
Emotional fatigue overcame her, and her knees suddenly became weak and unable to support her slight frame. When she teetered unsteadily toward the settee, Timothy grasped her arm, but she jerked it away. She would not allow him to interpret her weakness as evidence of a plot to compromise him.
Once she had settled on the settee, she drew a deep breath, summoning the strength to continue with her confession.
Before she could proceed, Timothy sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “What can I do?” All the anger and accusation from his voice had melted away like snow flurries meeting the rising sun. Instinctively, she understood his question was not directed to her momentary bout of weakness but to the heart of their heated conversation.
“Admit that what you feel for me is more than that of a friend. I fully acknowledge I’m not the type of woman you wish to marry, the respectable wife you need by your side. And I know you don’t love me. But I’ve seen it in your eyes, Timothy. You do want me. Just once before I resign myself to marry a man who holds no passion for me, I’d like to hear it from the lips of the man who does.”
From his taut jaw and closed eyes, a war of indecision raged in Timothy’s mind. Was it truly so difficult for him to admit he wanted her? Was she so tainted by scandal that a man would be ashamed of desiring her?
“Your answer will not leave this room, I promise. I will take it to my grave.” Silently, she addedand cherish all my days.
Yet, he failed to respond.
“Whether or not you admit it, you should know that ever since our kiss in Mr. Thatcher’s cottage, all I can think about is you. I want you so much it hurts—here.” She rubbed the place over her sternum.
“I don’t love you.” Although not spoken harshly, his words lashed against her already aching heart.
“I know. There is softness in Dr. Somersby’s eyes when he gazes upon his wife. Such affection, respect . . . worship. There is none of that in yours.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. And at that moment, he couldn’t have been more right. What about his admission was there to understand other than his failure to love her?
“It’s not simply that I don’t. It’s that I can’t. I will never love anyone.” He shook his head. “I love my family. I love my work. But romantic love. Never. I’ve sworn to never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. It causes nothing but anguish and grief.”
She blinked, astounded by his confession. What in the world had happened to him? Speechless, she could only wait for him to continue, and she sent up a prayer of thanks when he did.
“But I will admit I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman. That kiss we shared in the snowbound cottage affected me as well. I thought I’d never see you again. That you would be married to your Mr. Netherborne, and that would be that. Since finding you here in London, you’ve thrown my world into chaos.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Are you satisfied now? Happy that we’ve both admitted to feelings neither of us can pursue?”
No. She was not. The joy she anticipated upon hearing his words did not arrive. Instead, they left her confused and saddened.
When she didn’t answer, he said, “I thought not. Why else do you think I’ve withheld these feelings from you? I don’t wish to cause you pain, Priscilla. And yet I have.”
The tears she’d been fighting to contain trickled down her cheeks. Unlike a lover, Timothy did nothing to soothe them away. He sat next to her unmoving, his hands clenched into fists on his lap.
“So you don’t love Honoria?” The question seemed absurd, even though she was the one asking it.
“No. I like her. She will make an excellent wife. An excellent viscountess when the time comes. She’s safe.”
“Safe?” Both a question and an accusation, the word came out as a bark.
“I run no risk of falling in love with her.” He dragged his hands through his hair again, leaving it adorably tousled. “You desire passion, and I avoid it at all costs. We are at a crossroads, Priscilla, and now we must go our different directions.”
Anger lit up her chest like a blazing inferno. “At least one of us will get what we want, then. I hope you’re happy in your loveless marriage. I know I will not be.”
She stormed from the room. Upon opening the door, she found the black cat sitting patiently, its yellow eyes peering up at her. She leaned down and scratched it behind the ears. “Go get him.”
* * *
Before Timothy could risefrom the settee and go after her, Priscilla left in a swirl of pink. Lord, fire bolts had shot from her eyes, scorching him to his soul. He hung his head, cradling it in his hands.
“Damnation!”
