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“Which is?”
“Matthew. You want an heir. I do not know if I can have children.”
“No woman does. All we can do is hope.”
Her eyes squinted. “That’s what Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. And she said you knew.”
He nodded. “I may have been at war a long time, but I am not blind. Or without my own resources. I knew you and Crewood never had children.”
“And I know you may never love me.”
Matthew scowled. “I would not be so certain about that.”
She fell silent, waiting. She looked away again, staring down at the fireplace next to them.
His hands tightened on her waist. Another tear slipped from the corner of one eye, and he kissed it away. “I think,” he whispered, “we have a chance to build something remarkable.”
Remarkable. Not love.Not affection. Remarkable. Sarah wanted to drown in the care, the concern she saw in those lovely hazel eyes. Disappear into the warmth she felt in his hands, his kiss. He had sought her out on the dance floor, anxious about other men dancing with her. Worried that“You were going to end our arrangement.”
But...remarkable.
The flames in the grate danced, their orange and blue lights blurring her vision as her heart warred with her instinct. She had accepted him, fully aware. A business arrangement. Sarah realized it had grown beyond a simple merger—she should count that much a blessing. “Remarkable” should be enough.
It would be enough. Ithadto be.
The flames danced.
But I want more!Her chest tightened as her heart seemed to scream it.
He stroked her face with one finger. “I do not want to wait. I can go tomorrow to see about a special license. Will you agree?”
He wants to get back to his precious Wellington.“Yes.” Sarah felt an unexpected chill as Matthew stepped away, even as he still held one of her hands. He spoke then about arrangements, days, and times, but Sarah absorbed few of the words. A numbness slowly settled over her as she urged her heart to stop, to ignore what she felt. It would be too hard to love him when he did not return the feeling. Numb was better. Numb was familiar. Numb was survival.
This is what comes from allowing a sliver of hope to worm into my life.
Without warning, her father’s voice echoed in her mind.“The heart lies, child. It is the biggest liar of all. No rake, no scoundrel will ever deceive you the way your own heart will. It is not reliable, not to be trusted.”They had been in his study. The fireplace had made the room extraordinarily hot. But maybe it was not the flames. Francis Montague had just presented the terms of the marriage contract to Lord Crewood to her. Terms that had appalled her. Owen Ainsworth was more than twenty years older. He had buried two wives. No children.“But you will have the perfect life, Sarah.”Crewood, rich as Croesus, would clear her father’s debts. She would be safe. Secure. Protected. A remarkable life.
As she would have now. Secure. Her debts paid.
The first slap had come before the wedding breakfast was over. Others that night. She had learned quickly to avoid, to placate, to not turn her back. A lesson she had forgotten that night. She turned her back, and he had pushed her. Tripped her. Sarah stared down at the flames, and suddenly felt Owen’s hand on her back, shoving. And she screeched, twisting away.
And was back in her own receiving room, and it was Matthew Rydell who stared at her, his face a mask of worry. “Sarah?”
She pointed at the fireplace. “The flames. I—I—” She took another step away.
Matthew watched silently as Sarah dropped down on to the settee, her arms wrapped around her.
“You were back in that room.”
She nodded. “It happens sometimes. I don’t know what—the memories.”
Matthew knelt on one knee in front of her, gently pulling her hands free. “Last week. When I approached you on the pavement outside. This is where you were.”
She nodded, unable to look at him.
“Nightmares?”
Another nod.
