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Whatever she had wanted from him earlier, apparently she had received it, and now she wanted nothing more. Certainly, she wanted no future with him;that would be the worst thing in the world, she had said, that day by the lake.
Already he missed her, even as she sat nearby, so cool and defiant that he did not know if she was hiding herself or revealing herself, and the confusion tore at his heart. If only he could recapture their ease and camaraderie, their passion and intimacy—but there was a solid great bloody wall between them, and she had put it there, and if he kept beating his head against it, the only person he would hurt was himself.
He bounded to his feet, found his drawers and breeches, dragged them up over his legs. In silence, she watched him dress. She still sat on his banyan but he didn’t want to ask her to move, so he bundled up his stockings and the soiled shirt, prepared to walk bare-chested to his room. He paused, staring down at her, willing her to say something, anything, to put things right.
She said nothing.
He took a ragged breath, let it out. “This has to stop. I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll write. Your scheme will continue as planned.”
The hollow inside threatened to overwhelm him. Without waiting for her response, he turned and stumbled out, into the cold, dark hall.
* * *
Arabella staredinto the dying fire. Warm air caressed her bare skin, but still she shivered.
Barely minutes ago, she had lain against Guy, feeling warm, full, right. But of course, it could never have lasted. In all her efforts to fool the world into believing she was perfect, she had never fooled herself. When Guy listened to her, praised her, touched her, teased her, when she felt strong and desirable and accepted, alive and happy and free— She had known that would end, sooner or later, one way or another.
And it had.
Dressing seemed too much trouble, so she pulled Guy’s banyan over her numb limbs. It smelled of him, felt like him, the soft, warm fabric cascading around her like the effect of his touch. Since she was on her feet anyway, she tidied the glasses, bundled up her clothes, gathered her hairpins from the table. Clearing away all evidence of their time together.
Back in her room, a single candle burned and red coals glowed. Arabella went through her nightly ritual, washing her newly sensitive skin, brushing and plaiting her newly discovered hair. She was brisker than usual, as if that might prove an antidote to Guy’s gentle, reverent touch.
In the drawer, her fingers fell once more on the miniature of Oliver. She tugged it out, traced the carved frame.
“I made a spectacular mess of that, didn’t I?” she whispered.
You just couldn’t find the right words, could you?
Why had she refused to tell Guy the whole story? Why had her pride intervened, yet again, and with such terrible timing?
“He said he wanted to know me.”
If he truly knew you, he definitely wouldn’t want you.
“Oh, Oliver, what iswrongwith me?”
Maybe none of her sinful deeds had even been necessary. Oh, everything seemed necessary at the time, but perhaps there had been other ways to deal with her problems. Perhaps, if she were different, she’d have found those other ways. Perhaps it was some deep flaw within her mind that made it take such twisted turns.
But this was how she was. She didn’t know how else to be.
Which was why she was alone, in a stolen dressing gown, talking to the portrait of a dead boy.
She squeezed the frame so its carved wood dug indents into her flesh. “Why did you have to leave us, Oliver? We were happy, before. None of this would have happened if you had not gone.”
No response was forthcoming, and anyway, she hadn’t the heart for a squabble. A droplet of water fell onto Oliver’s frame. She blinked rapidly, wiped her face and his, and replaced him in the drawer.
She let the banyan drop to the floor and pulled on her nightgown. Immediately, the cold slammed into her, so she swept Guy’s dressing gown back over her, pressing the silk to her face.
Thus embraced by his scent and warmth, she crawled into bed, alone.
Chapter 21
Ursula yelled Guy’s name and trotted toward him across the lawn the following morning. He scooped her up before she fell and whirled her around, until she squealed and demanded more.
“I have to go to London today, Little Bear,” he said, poking her belly so she giggled. “But I’ll come back for you. You’ll come and live with me, I promise. I love you.”
She said something that sounded like “I love you,” and Guy decided that was exactly what she meant.
