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“Who was this guy?”
She looked away for a brief moment. “No one important. A local artist. I used to hang out in his garden studio. One time I was in there studying and the place went up in flames.”
My insides twisted. “Was it an accident?”
She closed her eyes again. “No.”
An inexplicable charge of rage darted up my spine.
“The fire wasn’t meant for me. I managed to escape but he didn’t. He died in there.”
“Do you know who caused it?”
Her chin tilted and she gazed up at me. “Does it matter?”
I ground my teeth together before replying. “Yes.”
“Why?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curling upwards.
“Because I will kill them.”
The corner of her mouth flattened like she couldn’t believe I’d just said that.
“I mean it Rose. If I ever find out who did that to you, I will fucking kill them.”
Her eyes darkened and she stared at me.
“If you care so much, why are you sending me away?”
I ground my teeth. “Because you deserve better.”
She stood abruptly. “Do you really believe that?”
“With everything I am.”
“And I can’t convince you you’re wrong.”
I cast my gaze to the floor. “No.”
Seconds passed and silence stretched between them. I closed my eyes, unable to look at her, even for one last time. I only looked up when her quick footsteps carried her towards the barn exit.
“Where are you going?
She spun around and shrugged, her arms flopping in defeat. “There’s a car waiting for me. I’ll be back in London before I know it, right?”
My heart broke again. “That’s right.”
“Goodbye Dax.” She spun back around and stalked out of the stables.
I was numb when I returned to Rinka. I went through the motions untacking her and sponging her down. Usually, it was a groom’s job but I insisted; it helped strengthen the bond between horse and rider. And considering I was destined to spend the rest of my life alone, with only animals for company, it was all I had left.
Dax
Half an hour later,I climbed the tower stairs. The place felt deserted. The security men, maid and butlers who’d been hovering around over the last few weeks were gone. There was no need for them now. I felt nothing as I pushed open the door to my rooms. They’d already been straightened out. Broken furniture had been replaced, the whisky cabinet restocked, the chandelier mended. If I was capable of feeling anything at that point, it would been cold, hard guilt.
I was drawn to the bedroom, even though it would be etched on my mind forever as the place I learned how to truly love another person. The first thing I saw was the envelope. I knew it held the cheque I’d tried to give her but I was drawn to it anyway. I held it up and out fluttered the cheque and a small scrap of paper. I unfolded it and read.
Dearest Dax,
