She looked away, toward the manor house, rising like a lie in the distance. “You never intended to give me my divorce, did you?”
Of course he hadn’t. He’d chased her across the world. He’d never in his life been so thrilled as when she stormed into Parliament and fairly set the place aflame. She was his. “No.”
“Why lie? To me? To these women? To their families?” Before he could reply, she continued. “Was it punishment?”
“No.”
“Of course it was,” she said. “You remain the cat and I the mouse. And all you can do is toy with me.”
“No,” he said, coming toward her, one arm outstretched as though he could catch her.
She did step back then, recoiling from his touch, wrapping her arms about her waist as though she could protect herself from him—as though she had to protect herself from him—and Mal dropped his hand as though he had been singed, never wanting to give her anything that she did not wish. He cast about for the right words—the ones that would change everything. Simply. Perfectly.
Of course, nothing between them was ever simple.
“Shall I tell you how I feel, Malcolm?” He waited, and she continued. “I feel angry. I feel betrayed. I feel lied to and tricked. You remember those emotions keenly, do you not? You certainly hurled them at me enough.”
He stepped toward her. “Not any longer.”
She held up a hand, staying his defense. “I suppose it is ironic, is it not? Here we are, in the precise situation where we began—one of us trapped in a marriage we do not wish.” It wasn’t true. Not really. It couldn’t be. Except she went on, their past coming like arrows. “Except this time, it’s not you who questions my honesty, but the other way around.”
“How much more honest can I be?” he asked, frustration edging into his tone. “I love you.”
She closed her eyes and looked away. “I suppose you loved me then, too.”
“I did,” he confessed. “I’ve loved you from the start, and you never believed it.”
“When is that? When you stole kisses and threatened my reputation feet from the rest of London?”
A fist knotted in his gut. “Yes,” he said.
“And when you made love to me here? At Highley?”
“Yes—Sera—”
“And when I forced your hand?”
He’d been so furious then. But it hadn’t changed anything. Not really. “Yes.”
“You didn’t believe me then. That I loved you. That I was afraid for my sisters and myself. Everything you and I had ever done had been so clandestine. And I’d loved it. But what would happen in the light?” She shook her head. “I regretted it all the moment I did it. I once told you that I would do it again if I had the chance. I wouldn’t. If I could take one day of my life back, it would be that day, here. At Highley.” She looked away, to the horses, the meadow, the estate in late-summer perfection. “I regret it.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She returned her gaze to his, clear and honest. “I told myself then that I did it for my sisters. That’s how I kept myself sane. But I did it for myself, as well. I did it for myself, full stop. Because I loved you and I was afraid I would never be enough for you.”
“You were,” he said, reaching for her again, running his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his. “You were more than I could ever dream. I had spent so much of my life believing that love was impossible that when I had it in hand—I wanted every bit of it for myself, alone. And that greed was my downfall.” He shook his head. “I loved you. I never stopped loving you.”
She looked away, at the summer breeze rustling the meadow beyond. “Then it seems that love is not enough.”
He loathed the words, because he could see where she was headed. A runaway carriage that would not stop. “It is.”
Sera gave a little huff of humorless laughter and looked to the manor house in the distance, rising on the horizon like a lie. “It’s not, though. You still do not know me well enough to see the truth, Mal. You still see the same girl from a thousand years ago. The one who thought she loved you enough to win you. Who thought she could convince you to forgive her.”
“I did forgive you,” he said.
“No, you punished me,” she said. “You punished me for trapping you—and never once believed that I trapped you for you, dammit, and never the title, the fucking title that hangs like a damn yoke about my neck.” The curse shattered him with its proof of the life she’d had without him. Of the years she’d had free. “You refused to free me, even when I came to you, offering you freedom, as well. Offering you a future. Even when I offered to get down on my knees and beg you for it.”
Of all the things he’d ever done to her, that one was still the most shameful.
“And all that before you meted out the worst of your punishments.”
He would never forgive himself for that moment—for taking another woman to exact revenge upon his wife. “I cannot take it back. I can only tell you that I—”
“I know.” She cut him off. “You were angry.”
“I was more than angry.” He reached for her, trying to explain himself. She stepped backward toward the trees, and he stilled. If she did not wish his touch, he would not give it. “I was destroyed. You didn’t tell me—Christ, Sera. I was to be a father.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t want her.”
The words stole his breath. “I never said that.”
“You did!” The accusation came on a flood of anguish. “You said you didn’t want a life with me. You didn’t want a family. You didn’t want children.”
“I was wrong. I was angry and I was wrong,” He rushed to right it. “I wanted that life. I wanted that child.”
Christ, how they had ruined each other.
He pressed on. “I wanted that child, and I wanted you. But I was too angry, too cowardly, too rash to see it. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as much as I did that day. I thought it was a lie—everything between us.”
She nodded. “It wasn’t.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“She wasn’t a lie, either.”
“No. She wasn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, the only thing he could do to keep himself from touching her. “Sera, if I could take it all back . . .”
She shook her head. “Don’t. You can’t take it back, and even if you could . . . If we’d stayed together, something else would have driven us apart. Don’t you see?”
No. He didn’t see, dammit.
“That’s the point,” she continued. “I’ve never not wanted to kiss you, Mal. I’ve never not been willing to beg for your touch. And it’s never been enough.”
He would never know why he chose that moment to tell her everything. “I came to Boston.”
The words were so unexpected that they moved her physically backward, toward the trees. “What?”
“I came after you,” he said.
She shook her head. “When?”
“Immediately,” he said, the words coming fast and clipped, as though he was ashamed of them. “The day you left. But you left without a trace.”
She did not agree, but he knew it was truth, nonetheless. She hadn’t returned to London. Hadn’t even said good-bye to her sisters. “I went to Bristol.”