She shook her head, moved toward him. “Not so. If I hadn’t drugged you. Left you. Failed to return . . .”
“You are not a god, either. You are just a woman. As I am just a man.” He exhaled, harsh in the darkness. “You didn’t make me. And we have made this mess together.”
Her eyes were liquid in the darkness, and he wanted to hold her. To touch her. To take her home and make her his.
But he didn’t. Instead he said, “I only wish it were over.”
She nodded. “It can be,” she said. “It’s time.”
She meant the unmasking. And perhaps it was time. God knew he’d waited long enough to have this life back—the one he’d been promised. The one he’d loved and missed with a stunning, stinging ache.
But as he stared down at her, it was all gone, lost to this woman, who owned him in some remarkable, unbearable way. He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek in a long, slow caress. She leaned into the touch, and his thumb traced the curve of her lips, lingering.
Something had happened.
He whispered her name, and in the darkness it sounded like a prayer. “I can’t.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, betraying her confusion. Her frustration. “Why not?”
Because I love you.
He shook his head. “Because I find I no longer have a taste for vengeance. Not if it will hurt you.”
She went still beneath his touch, and he saw the myriad of emotions race through her before she reached for his hand. He pulled away before she could catch it and reached into his jacket pocket.
He extracted the bank draft—the one he’d planned to give her after her unmasking this evening. The one he had to give her now. The one that would release them both from this strange, painful world. Handed it to her.
Her brow furrowed as she took the paper in hand, reading it. “What is this?”
“Your brother’s debt. Free and clear.”
She shook her head. “It’s not what we negotiated.”
“It’s what I’m giving you, nonetheless.”
She looked up at him then, sadness and something else in her gaze. Something he hadn’t expected. Pride. She shook her head. “No.”
“Take it, Mara,” he urged. “It’s yours.”
She shook her head once more and repeated herself. “No.” She folded the draft carefully and tore it in half, then in half again, then in half again.
What in hell was she doing? That money could save the orphanage a dozen times. A hundred of them. He watched as she continued her tearing, until she was left with little bits of paper, which she sprinkled on the snowy ground.
His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the little white squares dust the toes of his boots. “Why would you do that?”
She smiled, sad and small in the darkness. “Don’t you see? I’m through taking from you.”
His heart pounded at the words and he reached for her, wanting her in his arms. Wanting to love her as she deserved. As they both deserved.
She let him catch her, pressing her lips to his in one long, lush kiss that stole his breath and flooded him with desire. He wanted to lift her and carry her away, and he cursed his wounded arm for making it difficult to make good on that desire.
Instead, he held her close and reveled in the feel of her lips on his, in the smell of lemons that consumed him, in the soft promise of her fingers in his hair. He ravished her mouth until she sighed her pleasure and melted against him. Only then did he release her, loving the way her fingertips found her lips, as though she’d never been kissed quite that way before.
As though she did not know that he was going to kiss her that way forever.
He reached for her once more, her name already on his lips, wanting to tell her just what she could expect from his kisses in the future, but she stepped backward, out of reach. “No,” she said.
He had waited for twelve years. He did not want to wait any longer.
“Come home with me,” he said, reaching for her. Wanting her. “It’s time we talk.”
It was time they did more than talk. He’d had enough of talk.
She danced back from his touch, shaking her head. “No.” He heard something firm in the word. Something unyielding.
Something he did not like.
“Mara,” he said.
But she was already turning away. “No.”
The word came on a whisper in the darkness as she disappeared for the second time that night.
Leaving him alone, and aching.
Chapter 17
“Y ou appear to have lost your coat.”
Temple emptied his third glass of champagne, trading it for a full one from a passing footman’s tray, and ignored his unwelcome companion. Instead, he watched the throngs of revelers spinning and swirling across the ballroom floor, their excitement having risen to a fever pitch as wine flowed and time marched.
“You also seem to have lost your companion,” Chase added.
Temple drank again. “I know you are not here.”
“I’m afraid I am not a hallucination.”
“I told you to stay out of my affairs.”
Chase’s eyes went wide behind a black domino identical to Temple’s. “I was invited.”
“That’s never stopped you from avoiding events like this before. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t very well miss your crowning moment.”
Temple turned away, returning his gaze to the room at large. “If you’re seen with me, people will ask questions.”
Chase shrugged one shoulder. “We are masked. And aside from that, in mere minutes, you shan’t be such a scandal. Tonight is the night, is it not? The return of the Duke of Lamont?”
It was supposed to have been. But somehow everything had gone sour, and he’d found himself in the gardens, staring down at the woman upon whom he’d placed twelve years of anger . . . no longer having the stomach for retribution.
If only that were all.
If only he hadn’t stared down at that woman and seen someone else entirely. Someone he cared for far too much. So much that he didn’t seem to mind that she’d sent her brother into the darkness, free.
All he minded was that she’d left as well.
Because he wanted her back.
He wanted her. Full stop.
Christ.
“I told you to leave me alone.”
“How very dramatic,” Chase said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “You cannot avoid me forever, you know.”
“I can try.”
“Would it help if I apologized?”
Surprise flared. Apologies from Chase were uncommon. “Do you plan to?”
“I’m not fond of the idea of it, I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t particularly care.”
Chase sighed. “All right. I apologize.”
“For what, precisely?”
Chase’s lips went flat. “Now you’re being an ass.”
“I find it is best to fight fire with fire.”
“I should have told you she was in London.”
“You’re damn right you should have. If I’d known—” He stopped. If he’d known, he would have fetched her.
He would have found her. Earlier.
It might have been different.
How?
“If I’d known, this mess might have been avoided.”
“If you’d known, this mess might have been worse.”
He cut Chase a look. “I thought you were apologizing.”