Wishing their future had not been so well cast in such strong stone.
“I promised I would tell you—” she began.
He shook his head, cutting her off. “Not now. Not because of this. Don’t sully it. It’s the first time it’s felt real in . . .”
He trailed off, the words singing through her, bringing hope and promise with them—two things she could not accept. Two things she had learned long ago would destroy her if she gave them quarter.
She did not give them time to take root. “We never . . .” She moved from his lap, sliding to the floor. “It started, but did not get to here . . .” He closed his eyes at the words and took a deep breath, and as much as she wanted to stop, she soldiered on. “I should never have let you believe we did.”
His gaze found her. “So it was another lie.”
She nodded, wanting to tell him everything. Wanting to tell him that that night, long ago, when she’d done the thing she most regretted, was also the night she’d done the thing she least regretted.
He’d made her laugh and smile. He’d made her feel beautiful.
For the first time in her life.
For the only time in her life.
She opened her mouth to tell him just that, to try to explain, but he was already speaking. “Daniel.”
The name confused her. “Daniel?”
“He is not mine.”
Shock threaded through her at the words. At their meaning. She shook her head. “I don’t understand . . .”
“You said he’d been with you forever.”
Daniel, with his dark hair and blue eyes and his age—exactly correct if they had done this. If they had done more.
For a moment, she let the vision of it crash over her. Temple, strong and sure and handsome and hers. And a son, dark and serious and sweet.
And theirs.
It was the life he wanted. A wife. A son. A legacy.
But it was not real. She shook her head, finding his gaze, seeing the emotion there. Regret. Anger. Sadness.
She’d hurt him again. Without even trying. She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Forever—since I founded the orphanage. He is not . . .” She trailed off, wishing the truth were different.
He laughed then, the sound harsh and humorless. “Of course he isn’t. Of course we didn’t.”
The words cut through her.
He stood, in a single fluid movement, taking himself to the opposite side of the ring, all grace and economy even now, even with one arm in a sling. Even with a wound that would have killed a lesser man.
His back to her, he scraped his hand through his hair. “Just once, I wanted the truth from you.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Just once, I wanted you to give me a reason to believe you are more than what you seem. More than a woman out for blood and money.” He laughed and turned away again. “And then you gave it to me.”
She should tell him.
The whole story.
The money, the debt, the reason she’d run. She should lay herself at his feet and give him the chance to forgive her. To believe her. To believe in her.
Perhaps then, they could start again. Perhaps then, there might be more to this strange, unsettling, remarkable thing between them.
Dear God, she wanted that more than she wanted her next breath.
“I was not out for blood,” she said, coming to her feet, her dress in her hand, shielding her nakedness from him. “And not for money, either.” She took a step toward him. “Please. Let me explain—”
“No.” He turned to her, hand slashing through the air.
She stopped.
“No,” he repeated. “I am tired of it. Of your lies. Of your games. I am tired of wanting to believe them. No more.”
She pulled her dress around her, knowing that she deserved this. Knowing that, for twelve years, her life had been heading for this. For the day when she faced this man and told him the truth, and suffered the repercussions.
But it had never occurred to her that the pain would come from losing him. From hurting him. That she might care for him.
Care for him.
What a silly, tepid phrase in comparison to the emotion that coursed through her now, as she watched this remarkable man battle his demons. Demons she had sent after him.
“I don’t care what your reasons are, or how well you’ve fabricated them. I am done. How much was this worth? This afternoon?”
The words were a blow. He couldn’t believe she would ask to be paid for— Of course he could. It was the arrangement they’d made.
She shook her head.
“And now you are too high for our agreement?”
She didn’t want it now. She didn’t want any of it. She only wanted him.
And, like that—like a sharp, wicked blow, she understood.
She loved him.
And if that was not bad enough, he would never believe it.
But still, she tried. “William. Please. If you’ll just—”