Page 80 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Irene stared at him, shocked and dismayed. “All this time,” she murmured, “through these nights we have been together, I have been so happy. But you . . .” She stopped, finding it hard to say the words out loud. “But you have not.”

“I have.” His voice was fierce, harsh. His gray eyes were dark and turbulent, but in his face, there was pain, pain that hurt her, too, that made her feel as if her heart was being ripped out of her very chest. “Here in this room, when it is just us and there is nothing else, this time has been the happiest of my life, Irene. But life cannot just be this room. And out there, I am in agony.”

With that confession, her heart seemed to part from her completely, tearing out of her breast and tumbling straight into his hands. In that moment, she fell in love with him.

The sensation was overwhelming, and it took her a moment before she could think of anything to say in reply. “And here I thought I was learning to discern your feelings. I had no idea of this. Why did you not tell me?”

“Tell you what? I tried to explain beforehand how this would be, but I knew you did not understand. I should have walked away, but I agreed to this arrangement because, God help me, I wanted you so much, I could not stand not having you. I still feel that way, as selfish and dishonorable as it is.”

“We chose this together. You must not berate yourself and feel guilty for what is between us.”

“Must I not? Even though I wholly deserve my own recriminations? I am torn, not only by my desire for you, but also by suspense and fear on your behalf and the dictates of my conscience, as well I should be. If we are discovered, then you would be proclaimed a strumpet, and I would deserve all the blame for having made you so.”

“That hasn’t happened, Henry,” she reminded. “We cannot torment ourselves with worry over things that have not happened.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more on the subject, but he nodded instead. “Very well,” he murmured and turned away, returning to the dressing table.

“At least our first separation won’t be too long,” she said, trying to put the best face on things as he buttoned his waistcoat. “I’ll see you when you come back on Monday with your mother and my sister.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached for his pocket watch, but then he paused, and though his head was bent and she couldn’t see his face in the mirror, she felt a little shiver of apprehension again along the back of her neck. “I don’t think,” he said after a moment, “that I will be coming to town as soon as that.”

Irene was astonished. “But what about your mother’s wedding?”

“I won’t be at the wedding.” He tucked his watch into his waistcoat pocket and fastened the fob. “No one in the family is going.”

She could not believe what she was hearing. “But you said you’ve accepted her decision to marry him.”

“So I have. But attending would imply to society that I approve.” He lifted his head and met her gaze in the mirror. “I don’t.”

“Oh, Henry, really!” she cried, aggravated beyond bearing. “I cannot believe you can still be as fastidious as this.”

“You abhor playing the hypocrite, yet you think I should do so?”

“I suppose I thought you’d be more charitable,” she shot back, stung. “More forgiving.”

“It’s not a matter of charity or forgiveness, Irene. Such condescension on my part would further tarnish the family in society’s eyes.”

“Oh, hang your image and your precious society! This is your mother we are talking about.”

He ignored her scowl and her aggravated words as he picked up his cuff links and began to put them on. “My attendance would further damage Angela and Sarah’s chances. It would mean even fewer invitations arriving for them, and therefore, even less chance of them being considered for suitable matrimony.”

“Marriage isn’t everything,” she cried. “Suitability isn’t everything.”

“My sisters would not agree with you there, Irene.”

“What about you?”

He went still for a moment, then he tugged his cuffs into place and turned around. “I don’t agree with you either.”

Those words felt like a knife going into her chest, and he seemed to sense their impact, for he sighed. “Surely you could not expect me to offer any other answer?”

“I don’t know what answer I expected,” she countered, stunned, her chest aching. “Perhaps one that wasn’t so damned disappointing.”

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you,” he said, and with that cool reply, all the bliss of the past few days began to crumble.

What had she been thinking to expect him to be anything but the man that he was? Had she really thought a couple of weeks in her company and a few nights in her bed could overcome the strictures of a lifetime? Had she really dared to hope that a few spirited discussions could imbibe him with some of her working-class views and modern values? Had she ever believed that she possessed sufficient influence to make him see beyond rules and traditions and what others might think? If that was what she’d been thinking, she’d clearly been lost in a fantasy. The place in her chest where her heart had been now felt like a gaping, empty hole.

If this was what it felt like to be in love, she thought, then she wanted no part of it. A sound very much like a sob escaped her.

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