She clutched trembling hands together at her waist, before deliberately separating them and lowering them to her sides. His distant attitude scraped tattered holes in her heart, but she was a fighter, not a helpless victim. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
A muscle flickered in his lean cheek. “The vicar’s still inside the church, and we’re expected at the house. I’m due to make a speech, if you recall.”
She set her jaw and marched into the small space, despite West’s silent warning to keep out. “The vicar and his wife left a few minutes ago. You
don’t have to do your speech until the end of the breakfast. And you’re not weaseling out of telling me what’s going on, even if we sit here until Christmas.”
He sighed again. “People will talk.”
“Let them.” With legs that felt like string, she sank onto the narrow bench opposite West. It was colder in his dank hideout than it was outside in the sun. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled with grudging fondness—and a regret that sliced at her like a razor. “Always ready to rush in where angels fear to tread.”
She didn’t smile back—after all, he hadn’t given her much of a smile in the first place. “Are you angry because our friends now know we’re…involved?”
“No. Although that doesn’t mean I want the whole bloody county knowing our business.”
She leaned back on the clammy medieval stone. She didn’t understand what was happening. Which was strange when she and West had shared such an uncanny connection.
But whatever troubled him, he needed to know that the game had changed.
“West, I will marry you.”
Whatever reaction she expected, it wasn’t the one she got. For a blistering instant, he stared at her in absolute horror. Then he tipped his head against the wall and laughed.
His sour amusement bounced around the stone walls like mistuned bells. Devastated, angry, bewildered, Helena surged to her feet and glared at him. Her hands formed fists at her sides, although she knew she couldn’t thump a man only hours out of his sickbed.
“What the devil is wrong with you?”
He stopped laughing and leveled cold eyes upon her. Shocked, distraught, she stumbled back onto the bench.
His lips twisted. “Do any two people in history have worse timing than you and me?”
That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all.
Dread colder than the snow outside oozed down her spine. “What do you mean?” she asked in a reedy voice.
The humor, however bitter, drained from his face. He looked weary and desolate.
She wasn’t a stupid woman, although right now, she feared she’d been fatally stupid about West. Before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say. Although she still couldn’t fathom how everything could shift in mere days.
“I mean that I’ve changed my mind.” His deep voice was toneless. He didn’t sound at all like the man who had slept by her side and caressed her until she cried out in ecstasy. “I won’t marry you, Helena.”
Although his manner already hinted at that answer, she recoiled. Having her heart crushed beneath his boot heel hurt like the very devil. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. It would be too humiliating.
She couldn’t help but remember the afternoon in the summerhouse. She’d never trusted anyone so deeply. She’d never felt so happy.
Her nails bit into her palms as she struggled for control. Crewe had taught her all about disappointment and loneliness and shame. This should be more of the same.
Except it wasn’t.
Because she’d soon realized that her so-called love for Crewe was only adolescent romanticism, allied with his dedicated pursuit of her—and her dowry. Whereas her bond with West was real.
Or at least she’d believed it was.
Mustering her ragged courage, she squared her shoulders. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“Yes.” That muscle in his cheek continued its erratic dance. He looked uncomfortable and miserable and strained.