“I wish the same. That I'd caught you that day, somehow.” He sighed, a heavy sound of regret. He turned toward her and turned her toward him, his hand clasped firmly on her upper arm. “But it's still not too late.”
For a long moment she didn't understand him. Then a thunderbolt crashed atop her, leaving her blind and staggered. There'd been a time in her life when she'd have walked barefoot over a mile of broken glass for a reconciliation with him. When she'd have expired from joy upon hearing those exact same words.
That time was years and years ago, long past. Her imbecilic heart, however, still leapt and burst and rolled around in clumsy cartwheels of jubilation.
Right into a wall.
She was promised to Freddie. Freddie, who trusted her unconditionally. Who adored her far more than she deserved. She'd reaffirmed her desire and determination to marry him every time she'd met him, the last time only two days before.
How could she possibly slap Freddie with such a gross betrayal?
“I tried not to,” said Camden, his eyes the most brilliant pinpoints of light in the night. “But all too often I wondered what might have happened, back in eighty-eight, had I not given up. Had I the nerve to come look for you in England.”
Why didn't you? she cried silently. Why didn't you come for me when I was lonely and heartsick? Why did you wait until I'd committed myself to another man?
She covered her eyes, but her head was still babel and bedlam, feral thoughts cannibalizing each other, emotions in a pandemonium of roundhouse and fisticuff. Then suddenly a siren song arose above the din, sweet and irresistible, and she could hear nothing else.
A new beginning. A new beginning. A new beginning. A new spring after the dead of winter. A phoenix arising from its own ashes. The magical second chance that had always eluded her futile quests now presented to her on a platter of gold, on a bed of rose petals.
She had but to reach out and—
It was this very same insatiable craving for him that had overcome her a decade ago, this very same impulse to damn everything and everyone else. She'd surrendered her principles and acted out of expediency and untrammeled self-interest. And look what had happened. At the end of the day, she'd had neither self-respect nor happiness.
But the siren song descanted more beautifully still. Remember how you giggled and prated together about everything and nothing? Remember the plans you made, to hike the Alps and sail the Riviera? Remember the hammock you were going to crowd in warmer weathers, the two of you, side by side, with Croesus stretched atop the both of you?
No, those were mirages, memories and wishes distorted through rose-tinged lenses. Her future lay with Freddie—Freddie, who did not deserve to be ignominiously cast aside. Who deserved the best she had to give, not the worst. He had entrusted his entire happiness to her. She could not live with herself were she to trifle with that trust.
What about—
No. If she must endure the siren song, like Odysseus, thrashing and flailing in temptation, then she would. But she would not abandon Freddie. Nor her own decency. Not this time. Not ever again.
She looked at Camden. “I can't,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I'm pledged to another.”
His fingers on her arm tightened infinitesimally. Then the coolness of the night replaced the warmth of his hand. His eyes did not leave hers, but she could no longer see the light in them. Only an infinite darkness met her gaze. “Why did you tell me about the Dutch cap exactly?”
Why exactly? “I was”—if there was a riding crop nearby, she'd gladly have used it on herself—“I thought you'd be so disgusted you wouldn't want anything more to do with me.”
“I see, preserving your loyalty to Lord Frederick still.”
His voice had gone chill. As had her heart. A frozen expanse except for one white flame of anguish.
“Why, then, did you not object when I exposed you to a very real risk of consequences?”
And what could she say? That she'd ever been so? That he had but to display the slightest sweetness and approval for her to forget everything otherwise important? That she was a hopeless imbecile in his bed?
“I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry.”
The bed creaked. For a fleeting second she saw the deep channel of his back as he sat with his hands braced to either side of him, his head bent. Then he left the bed altogether.
“I wish you'd have remembered all those scruples a little sooner,” he said, a current of anger churning beneath his seamless politeness. He shrugged into his dressing gown and tightened the sash in a savage motion.
She sat up, clutching the bedspread against her chest. Stay, she wanted to say. Stay with me. Do not leave. Instead, she mumbled in arrant daftness, “You said yourself that what happened between us cannot be undone, can never be undone.”
“And would that I had heeded my own sage advice,” he said curtly, marching toward the door.