It was the choice of a man who was determined to have no part in the world. Thea should not take it personally, then, that he was sending her away.
It was just that she was so very tired of people sending her away.
Thea was not completely naive. She knew she had nothing to offer him, nothing but silly stories and kisses in the lake. A young woman, a passing diversion, because he was, after all, just a man. She knew this was not her home, nor ever would be.
He had said as much. And then he said it again: “You cannot stay.”
“I can if I want to,” she argued. “Only for a few more days. I shall leave at my own convenience. After all, you brought me here under false pretenses.”
He threw up his hands. “You came here under false pretenses.”
“I would never have come here at all if not for your scheme. I would have stayed quite happily at Arabella’s house, pretending to be Helen, waiting for news that Helen was married and my pamphlet was printed, at which point I would have returned to London. Then you got in the way, all arrogant and earl-ish, and played with us like pieces on a board. But my pamphlet is not yet ready. When I leave, it will be on my own schedule, not yours.”
He went very still. “Pamphlet? What pamphlet?”
“I wrote a pamphlet.”
“You wrote a pamphlet.”
“It tells the true story of what Percy Russell did to me, although I used false names and invited readers to guess whom it concerns. The Tale of Rosamund. Who was cruelly wronged by… You know.”
Rafe said nothing. Frowning, he began to pace back and forth. He appeared vexingly unimpressed.
Thea hurried to explain. “It will be printed in time for the Prince Regent’s costume party, when the whole ton will be in Town, and I’ll have it distributed to everyone. If my plan works…”
He said nothing. Kept pacing.
“If my plan works, society will understand that Percy and his friend lied. My parents will realize they were wrong not to believe me. My reputation will be restored, and I shall return to my life.”
He said nothing.
“I mean, if my plan works, I can make a new home, where nothing can be taken from me, and no one can ever send me away again. If my plan works.”
He said nothing.
“Rafe, say something.”
He stopped pacing. “Your plan won’t work.”
“Oh.”
She waited. No further comment ensued.
“When I said ‘say something,’ I didn’t mean to say that,” she said. “You are meant to say it is a brilliant plan.”
“It isn’t a brilliant plan.”
“Say it is sure to succeed.”
“It is sure to fail.”
And if it failed… Where would she go then? No. She could not let herself believe that.
A chill shivered over her, despite the sunlight.
“Must you be so pessimistic?” she demanded. “Is that another thing you learned at earl school? Lessons in pessimism, after your lessons in presumptuousness, perfidiousness, and pettiness.”
He shook his head. “I published a pamphlet telling the truth about Katharine, but no one wanted to know. Ventnor countered with his lies, and look at the way people ate those up. Even as the lies grew more and more ridiculous, still people preferred them to the truth. Amid all the rumors you heard about me, did anyone ever mention that Katharine had a naturally occurring illness of the mind?”
“No.”
“Think about that. People would rather believe in your wrongdoing than in Percy’s, because that keeps their world the same as it always was.”
“I’m not listening to you.”
“You should. You must. Thea, this optimism of yours, it will—”
“Don’t you dare mock my optimism.” Anger rose in a familiar wave. “Optimism was my family’s food and drink when we had little else. Optimism is how my father rose from the son of a poor warehouse clerk to a wealthy merchant. You aristocrats, never daring to get enthusiastic about anything. We cannot afford to be pessimists, did you never consider that? Of course you’re miserable, when you…” She remembered herself and her cheeks heated. “Forgive me. Your loss was far greater than my own.”
Dismissing her clumsy words with a shake of his head, Rafe crossed the room toward her. “I do not mock you. But have you not had enough heartache without setting yourself up for more? Your openness and joie de vivre—your resilience puts me to shame, and you…”
He reached out and touched her hair, his caress as light as the breeze.
“You do like me,” she whispered.
“They’ll crush you again, and I would hate to see you hurt.”
He did not wish to see her hurt? He said those words while looking right at her, his expression so concerned? Truly, he had no idea.