“You can as easily search in England as in Russia.”
“And when you weary of me?”
“Who is to say I will weary of you?”
She shook her head. “How long do your affairs usually last? A few weeks? A few months?”
“I have never had an affair with a woman such as you.” He tenderly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Never.”
With an effort she ignored his fingers as they trailed down the line of her jaw. She would not allow him to distract her. He might wish to disregard the inevitable end o
f his desire for her, but she could not afford to be so indifferent.
“Even if you do decide to continue our relationship, what do you expect of me once you are wed?” she charged, her heart clenching with a ruthless pain. “Do you intend to keep me in one of your cottages so you can visit when you are not occupied with your wife and estate?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing away from the railing so he could prowl across the terrace with short, jerky steps. Obviously, he had not considered the complications of having her in England.
Turning back toward her, Stefan shoved his fingers through his hair. “I have no intention of wedding in the near future.”
His tone indicated he considered his answer an end to the matter. Leonida, however, had no intention of allowing him to dismiss the futility of their connection.
“Why not? It is your duty to produce an heir, is it not?”
“Edmond has thankfully shouldered that particular responsibility.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” His gaze narrowed. “I assure you, there is no perhaps about Brianna carrying a child.”
“You are not the sort who allows another to shoulder his responsibilities.” Her tone dared him to defy the truth of her accusation. “Besides, you will never be satisfied to live alone in that vast house. It demands a family.”
Stefan returned to his pacing, his expression tight. “Meadowland has stood for centuries, it will no doubt survive a few more years without a duchess.”
Leonida leaned against the railing, a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. But why? She had already accepted that Stefan would wed. And that his bride would be a perfect English debutante. It was ridiculous to feel such a bleak sense of sorrow.
“Why have you not wed?” she said, unable to stop the question that continued to plague her.
He halted near a torch, the firelight making his skin glow with a rich sheen.
“You informed me that no woman of sense would have me.”
She rolled her eyes. As if he were not magnificently aware that he was the most sought-after gentleman in all of England.
“Women tend to lose all sense when offered the opportunity to become a wealthy duchess. I do not doubt you have had willing women tossing themselves at your noble feet since you left the nursery.”
“You would only accuse me of arrogance if I agree.”
“Then why do you not have your duchess?”
Stefan turned his head, regarding the orchard as if the answer could be found among the fruit-laden trees.
Leonida discovered herself fidgeting as the silence stretched, suddenly wishing she had not pressed. She sensed she was not going to like the answer.
“I have yet to encounter a woman who could replace my mother in the hearts of my people,” he at last admitted, his voice so low she barely caught the words.
“Or in your heart,” she whispered, straightening from the railing as ridiculous tears filled her eyes.
She had been right. She did not like the answer.