Page 89 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

How could one simple word destroy him? What was it about balls and women rejecting him? If he never had to attend another ball in his life, it would be too soon.

“I don’t understand. If you believe me, then why won’t you marry me?” A shock of realization hit him hard, the force of which, if physical, would have knocked him over. She didn’t love him. Was that it?

Bracing himself, he waited for her answer, prepared to tell her to give him time. That they would grow to love each other. That he was on his way already.

Her gaze darted to the side, and her formerly pinched lips parted.

Why wouldn’t she answer?

“My refusal has nothing to do with what did or didn’t happen between you and Adalyn,” she finally said.

Her answer did nothing to clear his confusion. “Then what?”

“It’s about you and me, Victor. I want a marriage based on mutual love. Unfashionable though it may be. Perhaps everyone is right, and my commoner blood has distorted my thinking. But marrying because of scandal or to further one’s fortune or status is something I don’t understand.”

Victor swallowed her words like a bitter pill. “But that’s what I want as well.”

Her tremulous smile nearly broke his heart. “I know. And that’s why I release you with a free heart to find someone to love as much as they love you.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, the action reminding him of what had precipitated the whole fiasco. “Goodbye, Victor.”

Numb, Victor watched her leave, his gaze locked on her until the blue of her gown disappeared at the doorway. His chest felt hollow, as if she’d scooped out his insides and taken them with her. Adalyn’s rejection of him, although devastating at the time, couldn’t compare to the despair gripping him at that moment—the wordGoodbyelanding with athudin the void where his heart used to be.

The orchestra had finished putting away their instruments and, one-by-one, quietly filed out.

Alone in the empty ballroom, Victor told himself he should go. But he couldn’t. Leaving would mean it was over. Finished. That he had given up. The thought unbearable.

Nash appeared at the entrance, his dark eyes boring into Victor. Even if Victor hadn’t been the only person in the room, he had a feeling Nash had purposely sought him out.

The churl strode toward him, his long legs eating up the length of the ballroom in a trice.

“Here to shoot me or escort me out?” In no mood to waste time, Victor snapped the question. Odd, but he would prefer the former to the latter.

Nash’s dark chuckle did nothing to alleviate Victor’s nerves. “Neither. I passed Juliana on the staircase. Since she was in tears, I thought you could use this.” Nash handed him a flask.

Victor snatched it and gulped down the liquor. Whisky—an excellent quality, Victor hated to admit—seared his throat and dulled the razor edge of his thoughts.

“Slow down. If you plan to win her back, it won’t do to get yourself foxed.” Nash pulled the flask from Victor’s fingers.

“Give it back.” Victor reached for it, but Nash held it above his head.

“First we talk, then you drink.”

Victor eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Victor continued to glare at him. Why couldn’t the man just leave him to his misery? “You? Help? How?”

“First, tell me. Do you love her?”

“Adalyn? No, I swear.”

Nash rolled his dark eyes. “No, you dolt. Juliana.”

“I...” The feelings he’d been struggling with came into focus. Different from what he’d felt for Adalyn, the affection he held for Juliana was less self-serving and more the desire to give. To want her happiness. He supposed that’s why her words had hit him so hard. How could he ask her to commit to a marriage to a man she didn’t love? She would be miserable. Even if he—Lord, hedidlove her.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t sound sure.”

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