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He loved her, he loved her, Mary chanted to herself desperately. He hadn’t really said the words, but weren’t actions supposed to speak louder than words? He loved her. He would not be acting like this if something was not badly wrong.
She said haltingly, “I just wanted to surprise you.”
Rathe sucked his breath at the words. Unbidden, a memory came to him, one of their earlier days in England. Then, he had surprised Mary by teaching her to waltz on a snow-covered ground, and she had surprised him by penning him a poem and reciting the words to Rathe.
The memories felt like they happened an eternity ago, taking place in a world where he and Mary were not being judged. When the walls of ice he had built around his heart started to crack, Rathe swiftly shoved all his memories to the side, choosing to focus instead on the bleakness of his present.
Looking at Mary, he said harshly, “You shouldn’t have come here. Don’t you know it’s not something a mistress should do?” The sight of the stricken look on Mary’s face hurt, but Rathe didn’t allow himself to weaken, didn’t allow himself to take the words back.
Although Rathe’s cruel words were like whips against her heart, Mary welcomed it. She welcomed it completely because the words caused the mask on the duke’s face to crack, enough for her to see the truth.
Those words had hurt him as much as it had hurt her. And right now, he was hurting as much as she was hurting as well.
“What’s wrong?” Mary whispered. “Tell me, please, what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong except you persisting on acting like a hard-headed child—-”
She flinched at the insult, but didn’t let it stop her. “Tell me what’s wrong, please. If we just talk about it—-” When he didn’t say anything, her voice broke as she pleaded, “Rathe, please.” The silence was unbearable, as if mocking her with the distance that kept yawning wider and wider between them.
The pain in Mary’s voice cut through the blackness that had surrounded him since their separation. It was only for a second, but it was long enough for Rathe to say hoarsely, “Just go back to our home, Mary.”
She started to cry. Why did it feel like Rathe was so far away when he was standing right in front of her?
“Go home, Mary, please.” If she went home, it could still be all right between them. They could still pretend until he figured out a way to be with her without hurting anyone else.
Mary shook her head, whispering, “It’s not home when you’re no longer there, Rathe.”
“I’ll visit you—-”
“When?” Pride no longer had any meaning to her. She just wanted Rathe back with her.
“I don’t know.”
“Just give me a date, any date!” She knew she was being hysterical, knew she was acting like the dreaded child she mustn’t ever be. But she couldn’t help it. “Please. Even if it’s a year, two years – I don’t care how long it takes. Just tell me when you’ll be back—-”
The hurt on her face nearly drove him to his knees. Goddammit, he had never wanted to hurt her. She was his bloodylife.But now, looking at Mary, seeing the way her frail body shook at the strength of her sobs, Rathe knew that he would end up ruiningherlife if he didn’t leave her for good.
“Mary—-”
His tone terrified her and she shook her head jerkily. “No.” She began retreating, backing towards the door. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Rathe’s face whitened. “You have to—-”
“I said,I don’t want to hear it!”Her face flushed in shame at the way she had screamed the words out. Everyone outside would have heard her. Everyone would no doubt think Rathe was better off without her. That he was more suitable to be with Camilla.
“I’m sorry—-”
The apology made her sob harder. “Please, stop. Please stop saying sorry. Please. I’m begging you, please stop.” Because if he kept saying sorry, she might just start believing him, might just accept that her love would forever be a burden on him.
“I’ll t-talk to you tomorrow,” she babbled as she reached for the doorknob behind her.
“There’s no point—-”
“Tomorrow,” she said fiercely. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and every day after that until...” She stopped speaking as she fought back the urge to continue crying. Crying were for kids, and she was not a kid. She had to prove that she was not a kid so Rathe would realize he loved her, too.
She forced herself to look at Rathe one last time. Her Rathe. Her Duke. Her love. Oh God, please make him realize he loved her, too.
“I’m coming back.” And then she was leaving, before he could make her cry by saying sorry one more time.
