While he was ready to dump me for a white lie I’d told, just because I’d wanted so desperately for him to think the best of me.
Turning blindly from the buffet, I ran into a brick wall. Edward was standing behind me. I wondered how long he’d been there.
“Having a good time?” he asked, his face inscrutable.
“No,” I choked out.
“It might be better with champagne.”
“I don’t want any.” I looked up at his handsome face. Was he already trying to figure out how best to end our relationship? How to let me down easy, and without a fuss?
I wanted him to love me. I wanted him to hold me close and never let go. Everything he’d told me—from the beginning—would never happen. Stupid. So stupid!
My voice was nearly a sob. “I just want to go home.”
For a long moment, Edward just looked at me. All around us in the ballroom, beautiful, glamorous people were laughing and talking, celebrating, and a few had started dancing to the music from the quartet. But as he looked into my tearful eyes, for a split second it was as if the two of us were alone again. Just like at Penryth Hall.
“All right,” he said quietly. Taking my hand, he pulled me from the ballroom, stopping for my coat. His driver collected us at the curb.
The streets of London seemed darker than usual. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had lifted. The night was frosty and soundless.
We walked into his dark, silent house after he punched in the alarm code. I started to go up the stairs. He stopped me.
“I never told you,” he said huskily, pulling me into his arms, “how beautiful you looked tonight.”
My heart went faster. “I did?”
“The most beautiful woman there by far.” Pulling me closer, he twirled a long tendril of my hair around his finger and murmured, “I was glad when you left to get a drink, because the other men were flirting with you so indecently I thought I’d have to punch them.”
“They were flirting with me?” I said dumbly. I had no memory of any of this alleged flirting, or of any of the men who’d surrounded us. I just remembered clinging to Edward’s arm like a silent idiot.
“Any man would want you.” His hand traced up my shoulder, my neck. “You’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever known.”
“More than the woman you loved in Spain?” I heard myself blurt out.
His hand grew still. His ice-blue eyes met mine. “Why do you say that?”
I swallowed. But I couldn’t back down now. “Victoria told me you took care of her for a year, helping her when she was pregnant. After she married someone else, you still loved her. You wouldn’t let her go. You were willing to die for her.” I stopped.
“So?” He spoke without apology, and without explanation. As if he owed me neither. It made my heart turn to glass.
I took a deep breath. “Is it true she looked like me?”
His dark eyebrows lowered. “Victoria said that?”
“Yes.”
“She was guessing.” His lips creased in a humorless smile. “She never met Lena. But it happens she’s wrong. You look nothing alike.”
I exhaled. Then I shivered. Lena. So that was the other woman’s name. “What made you love her so much?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you keep pushing?”
“Because I...”
I froze.
Because I wanted to know what special quality this woman had had, that had made Edward love her so much, when he couldn’t even love me a little. Had she been pretty? Had she been wise? Was it the sound of her voice or the scent of her perfume?
I wanted to know because at my deepest core, I yearned for him to love me the same way. I yearned for him to want to be with me. To stay with me. Raise a child with me.