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“No. You don’t. You hate it.” That was clear in every stitch. There were careful, beautiful stitches that he’d thought were hers, creating something for him. Then there were harried, rushed, careless stitches that she had done to continue her deception. “I don’t know who did most of this embroidery, but it wasn’t you.”
Her mouth fell open, and he could see her considering her next move. On the other side of the room, conversation continued, leaving what they thought were a pair of lovers to their chat.
“The truth, remember? That was what I asked for. Surely, surely, you can tell me the truth about this?”
She glanced about. “Look, it wasn’t me. A friend of mine does my embroidery. And there’s… It’s complicated and could get lots of other young ladies into trouble.”
“You think I wouldn’t have understood? We were engaged in a lie to everyone. I would have protected you and your friends with every fiber of my being. I didn’t reveal your toe-treading scheme, I met you every morning to go to the park because you’d said that was what you wanted. What could possibly have made you think I wouldn’t have kept your secret? It was supposed to be you and me working against the world, and instead you were laughing at me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, her tone a little desperate.
“What was it then?” Where his heart usually thudded in his chest when she was near was a cold stone. Stationary. Unfeeling.
Or he wished it was.
“It was just a pillow!”
“I asked you foronething, the truth. All summer you allowed me to believe you were making something meaningful for me for Christmas. Red roses: my favorite flower, my favorite color.” And a symbol of love. He didn’t mention that, but he’d rolled the idea in his head all autumn, as his love and desire for her had solidified from a bud, to a full bloom, to a bright red seed head full of hope for the future. Even as he’d become convinced that despite her caring for him, loving him even, she would never decide to be his wife. “I thought you liked me, and instead you were laughing at me the whole time.”
That cold stone in his chest, where his heart should be, was bleeding. The cold red blood of disappointed hope.
“I didn’t…” Whatever she saw on his face stopped her there. She swallowed. “I did mislead you.”
“You lied to me. I specifically asked you not to lie to me.” It had been his one condition. One simple rule.
“You were going to ruin me if I didn’t agree!”
Of all the disingenuous things to say. “We made a deal to help each other. Yes, I pushed you hard on it. I was halfway to being in love with you when you tried to step on my foot to put me off.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, but there wasn’t any warmth in the feeling now. “And I asked you, did you think this was a good deal? And if you’d just said no, I would have left it at that and let you continue miserably with your mother nagging you for the last six months. Instead, you had a doting and aristocratic fiancé and all the free time you wanted without any of the need for accomplishments or treading on men’s toes. And you had a promise that you could be free, any time you liked. You didn’t even have to kiss me,” he finished bitterly. If she hadn’t led him to believe in these last days that he’d finally won her heart, this wouldn’t be so painful.
“I wanted to kiss you!” she said a little too loudly.
“You lied to me, Gina. What else are you lying about so skillfully? Do you want to be with me? Do you even love me?”
“I do love you.” Her voice was low and raw.
Almost. Almost enough to convince him. But how many times had their eyes met over that roses embroidery, and he’d felt warm all over that she was making something for him? How often in the summer had he replayed her asking him about himself that first time, and afterward when she’d updated him on the progress of her roses embroidery? Time after time after time she’d lied that she was working on something uniquely by her, for him.
The entirety of the one thing he’d held onto in the last six months, believing it to be a sign of her growing affection for him, and it was nothing. A casual lie.A silly one, at that.
He’d thought they were building friendship and love and lust. Maybe it was a house with half the bricks missing, a shell that would fall down with the merest nudge.
He couldn’t bear it. Knowing she’d lied to him about a symbol of the hope he’d held that they could be more to each other. That they could be a once-in-a-lifetime love.
“You’re one-and-twenty now, and a woman of independent means. You don’t need me. I release you from our engagement.”
The shock wentthrough her like a teapot dropped on a tile floor. Scalding. Brittle. Sharp. Delicate and lethal.
“But. We…” She was the one who’d said it was just for carnal knowledge, and he’d said feelings would get involved. And he’d been right. Just not in the way he’d thought. Being with Emmett had been like peeling an orange. It had stripped off all the bitter, bright outer and revealed the sweet softness that had been inside all along. “But I want to marry you.”
He bit his lip and crossed his arms. “I understand your meaning. If there are consequences all you have to do is say, and I’ll do my duty.”
She glanced around at her mother, who was now staring sharply at them. She grabbed Emmett’s arm and dragged him out into the corridor then into the shadowed morning room, shutting the door behind them. He came listlessly, like a puppet.
“I’m sorry about the embroidery. I should have told you. But you were so happy with it. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And my embroidery really is extremely poor. I always stab myself with the needle and end up bleeding on it.”
“Is that why you chose red? So it wouldn’t show? It never was to do with me.” He let out a bark of hurt laughter. “How stupid I was.”
“It was for you! I wanted it to be perfect for you and if I’d done it, it would have been terrible.”
