Page 85 of Intolerable
The door opened, and Ruark was swept back six years to when he was a young buck conquering London—or thinking he was. His former paramour didn’t look as if she’d aged a day.
“Wexford! My goodness but look at how much more handsome you are! And you were devilishly attractive before.” She winked at him as she stepped to the side and ushered him in. “Come inside!” Closing the door behind him, she followed him into the sitting room of her small but elegant terrace. She frowned. “While it’s lovely to see you, I’m afraid I already have an arrangement. You’re a few months too late, sadly.” Her gaze raked over him with unabashed interest. “And I do meansadly.”
“I am not here for that. I came to…talk.”
Her brows pitched in disappointment. “Oh. Can I pour you a drink?” She started toward the cabinet where she kept her liquor. Apparently, nothing had changed in the six years since he’d regularly visited her house.
“No, thank you.” He’d had a bit too much to drink last night after leaving his former club. The banishment stung but not as much as losing his friends. He went to sit in a chair, and she draped herself onto a chaise.
“What is it you wish to talk about?” Her tone carried a light amusement.
“How well do you remember our time together?” It was one Season—February through June. By March, he’d fancied himself in love, and by June he was more than ready to leave London, and her, for the country. In truth, he’d been ready to leave her by April, and his visits to her had dwindled after that.
“You have remained one of my favorites,” she said coyly. “I admit I got a little rush of excitement when I answered the door and saw you there. But, alas, I am committed elsewhere.”
“I wasn’t too…emotional?” That wasn’t quite the right word. He’d never professed his love to her, but for a handful of weeks, he’d spent every spare moment in her company.
She laughed, a throaty, seductive sound that vibrated in his chest. “You were so young. Twenty-one, was it?”
“Yes.” And she was five years older. “I loved you. Or I thought I did, anyway.”
“Well, many men feel that way about their mistresses. Don’t think you are singular in your devotion.”
“It wasn’t just you, however. I fell in love with another woman—before you. And again after.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I do recall you being sensitive. You were always thoughtful and considerate, far more than most men. Perhaps you just have a heart that likes to be in love.” She smiled with a warmth that comforted him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Except for the hearts he broke. But he hadn’t broken hers, had he? “It didn’t bother you when I left?”
“I’m often sad when an arrangement ends. Some more than others,” she added with an arched brow. “However, I know how things are, and I accept that.” She froze for a moment, her gaze fixing on his. “You aren’t still…?” Though she didn’t say the words, Ruark knew what she meant.
“No, I’d fallen out of love by the time our arrangement ended. Indeed, that is what I do. I fall in love, and then I fall out. It’s a curse, I think.”
“Or perhaps you’ve actually never really been in love but infatuation,” she suggested softly. “I don’t think you can assume your past pattern of behavior will dictate your future.”
“But how can I expect to stay in love when I never have?”
“You are asking very difficult questions!” She laughed heartily then sat up straight on the chaise. “Ifyou can fall in love, and mayhap you can’t, I would expect that you could hold on to that emotion—if it’s right. I think it takes work in the long-term, but that’s only my observation from speaking with some of my…past gentlemen who have been married for years and years.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I don’t know that my counsel is worth much. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, nor do I expect to be.”
Ifhe could fall in love. And maybe he couldn’t.
She leaned forward. “I have to ask, why would you come to me to discuss this matter?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to talk to someone whom I’d once loved—or thought I loved. You’re the only one in London.” He had no idea where Freya was now, and Nuala was in Ireland. “I suppose I wanted to know if there was any lingering emotion between us. At least on my end.”
“And is there?” she asked.
None whatsoever. “No.” The only emotion he felt was anguish over how he’d treated Cassandra and despair that they wouldn’t have a future together. Did that mean he truly loved her?
He knew he loved her, just as he’d felt certain—at the time—that he’d loved the others, only to realize he’d been wrong. There was nothing to lead him to believe his feelings for Cassandra wouldn’t change. This was the root of his turmoil.
He blinked, wondering why he’d thought Marianne would be able to help him. “Thank you for listening to me go on like a dunderhead.” He stood, eager to be gone.
She moved quickly, standing and then clasping his hand. “Youdohave a sensitive heart. As tender now as it as when we were together. I take it there’s a woman you may love. I wonder if when you thought you loved me whether you considered how you might feel if I was suddenly gone from your life. Would you have mourned the loss deeply or found a way to soldier on?” A smile teased her lips. “I suppose you could do both. What I’m trying to say is, how would you feel if this woman was suddenly gone, if you could never see her again? Perhaps the answer will give you some clarity.”
Hehadlost Cassandra. Oh, he’d see her, and it would be worse than not, knowing he couldn’t touch her and shouldn’t evenspeakto her. Mourning the loss didn’t begin to convey how he felt. Did that mean he loved her differently than the others?
While there wasn’t clarity, there was at least something to ponder. Ruark let go of Marianne’s hand. “Take care of yourself.”
