Page 75 of Not his Marchioness
“You do not need to understand,” he said. “It is what it is. Soon enough, we will not have to do this.”
“So you keep saying, and yet you keep seeking my company. You tell me that soon, we do not have to be in each other’s lives anymore, and then, in the same breath, you tell me that you cannot live with somebody with whom you quarrel without smoothing the waves.
“You tell me that you are distant from me, and then the very next moment, here you are, telling me of your dreams about Italy, of your brother and father, and how your whole life was meant to be different. You open up to me, and then you run away, leavingme standing there like a fool. I am rather sick and tired of feeling like a fool.”
“I don’t want you to feel like a fool,” he murmured.
In fact, it hurt him that she felt that way.
He stepped forward and took her hands in his own. “I do not want you to feel like that. But I cannot do this.”
“Cannot do what?” she asked, her hands tightening around his.
She looked at him. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t love her—that he would never be able to love her the way he wished he could—because if he did and something happened to her, if she died, if he lost her too, he would never recover.
He wanted to explain to her that debauchery—the nights spent drinking and placing wagers, lying delirious with opium, dallying with women in houses of ill repute—was a way of coping with the deaths of his loved ones. But he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know how to explain to her that if it happened one more time, no amount of supreme wagers, spirits, or opium was going to save him.
Loving her and losing her would be the death of him.
And yet there she stood, the snow still visible through the windows of the hallway.
He let go of her hands. He felt her breath, cool and soft against his skin. He saw her eyes, pleading, full of questions he couldn’t answer.
“Charlotte,” he whispered.
And then, for a moment, he let go of all his worries. That tight control fear had over him loosened its grip, and he leaned forward.
He pressed his lips to hers, and they were warm and sweet and tasted of sugar. Something burst inside him, and tingling warmth spread up and down his limbs until he was nothing but—until he felt nothing but bliss.
It was the first time he had felt this way in a long while. No, the first time he had ever felt like this. This was happiness. This was the promise of a bright future.
He saw it before him, the two of them together. Christmas, Easter, Michaelmas. In the spring, summer, fall, and winter. Together. Young. Old. As parents, grandparents. And then he saw the end.
He saw himself. Alone. Again.
And as quickly as the wave had washed over him, it ebbed. He let her go and took two steps back.
“This—I cannot do this,” he croaked. “I am sorry. I wish I could be different. I wish I could be the man you deserve. But I am not.”
His hands dropped, and he walked away. And this time, when she called his name, he did not stop.
Charlotte tossed and turned. Rhys’s kiss still lingered on her lips. She didn’t know if she wanted to find him and kiss him again or slap him. The man was infuriating.
But after seeing the look in his eyes, it was not an illusion. She hadn’t made it all up. He felt about her as she felt about him.
What had he meant when he said he couldn’t? Why couldn’t he be with her? Why couldn’t he be a husband to her?
He had kissed her like he meant it. It wasn’t the sort of thing one imagined. It had beenreal.
And yet he had turned away, again. He had run away once more. He hadn’t stopped when she called to him.
What did this all mean?
Twice she pushed the covers off her to get up and find him, to demand answers, and twice she pulled the covers over herself again.
There was no point in pushing him now. She knew this behavior—had seen it from her own father. If he said that he did not wish to speak, he wasn’t going to. She would have to wait until morning.
Once the sun rose, she would wait for him at the breakfast table. Then, she would demand that he answer her. She would demand that he tell her what he had meant when he said he couldn’t.
