I love you.
Like a curse, those terrible words.
Everyone he’d ever loved was dead. And he was the only living common denominator. He knew what that meant. He’d always known.
“You’re a liar,” she whispered. “I was the one looking at your face tonight as we danced. I saw what you felt. Why are you so afraid to admit it?”
But he wasn’t afraid, he thought, fighting back his anger, keeping all that ugliness inside. He was empty. Why couldn’t she see that? He had been nothing but empty the whole of his life. The scars were a perfect reflection of what he was already—what he had always been.
“Rafe,” she said urgently, making a crucial mistake and stepping closer to him, even putting her hand on his arm. He felt himself tense, but she didn’t let go. “We can make this marriage whatever we want it to be. We can—”
“You forget yourself, Angel,” he said coldly, bitterly, because she made him want to believe, damn her. Even now. “This is not an equal partnership. It is not a partnership at all.”
“But it could be!” she cried, and for a moment he saw only the passion on her face, the wild determination in her darkened eyes. For a moment, he was almost swayed. And he wanted to be—he wanted it with an intensity that very nearly floored him. But then he remembered himself.
“To what end?” he asked, moving back so she had to
either let go of him or be dragged along. Her hand fell to her side. “I told you what I want from you, Angel. You signed your agreement a thousand times. I don’t know why we’re still discussing it.”
“Because I want more,” she said, her voice slightly scratchy now, and nothing but misery in her gaze. Misery and that small gleam of battered hope that he recognized and knew was the most destructive of all. He wished he couldn’t see it. It was too tempting. She was too tempting. “And I think you do too, somewhere in there. I know you do.”
“You know nothing about me,” he corrected her, softly, temper like a drumbeat in his head, his blood, beating out a harsh rhythm. “While I know entirely too much about you. What kind of partner do you think you could be, Angel? You mounted up fifty thousand pounds’ debt in all of two months’ time. You live a hand-to-mouth existence, at best. You have no education, no polish, nothing at all but bravado. What do you have to offer?”
The library was silent then. He could not even hear her breathe. One hand crept to her collarbone, as if she held her pulse inside her neck. Or as if it hurt. Her gaze was wet, though no tears spilled over, and in a lifetime of hating himself, Rafe could not think of a moment he had hated himself more than this.
“Congratulations,” she said in a thick voice. “I think you have finally managed to make me detest you.”
“That matters about as much as love,” he threw back at her. He laughed shortly when she shook her head. “If you don’t like it, Angel, you know where the front door is. You’ve walked out before. I told you—you’re always free to go. I won’t do anything to stop you.”
She stood so straight, so proud, with only her head slightly bent, as if that was all the grief she would allow herself to show. She pulled in a breath, as if to steady herself. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to comfort her or if that was simply his own guilt, growing deeper by the second. He would allow neither one to influence him. She had to understand. She had to see. What kind of man he was, had always been. What kind of monster.
The moment dragged on, and still she did nothing more than stand there, as if he’d finally rendered her speechless. He told himself that was some kind of victory. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to comfort her again, soothe her and hold her, and keep her from saying those terrible, destructive words. He wanted to go back to where they’d been before she’d said them. But look what his wants had done so far. He knew better than to trust the things he wanted. He knew better than to trust himself.
He turned away from her abruptly, making his way toward the door at the far end of the long room.
“I finally understand what you’ve been trying to tell me all along,” she said from behind him. He didn’t turn. He understood that if he did, he would not be able to turn away again. He was that weak.
“Good,” he growled out. “It’s about time.”
He heard the rustle of her gown, and briefly squeezed his eyes shut as if that could fortify him as she walked to him and then drew up beside him. Her eyes were large, dark and haunted, and he regretted the things he’d said to her almost as much as he regretted succumbing to the urge to marry her in the first place. What had he expected? That he would cart her away to his little castle and make some kind of fairy tale out of this mercenary piece of business between them? Had he really been so stupid?