Claiming the Courtesan

“Whitby?” he echoed, and she witnessed the exact moment he comprehended. His face stiffened in shock. “You want to leave me.” The words emerged so starkly that she almost relented.

Seeing how grievously this sudden rejection wounded him made her want to die. Then she reminded herself she did this for his sake. Somewhere in the bleak years that stretched ahead, she might find succor in that thought.

“Yes.” Pray God he didn’t hear the ocean of despair beneath her lie.

She braced herself for temper. Once, she’d angered him into committing a capital crime. This, she knew, was a worse betrayal than deserting him in London. She’d spoken no promises in these weeks, but each moment had been proof of her faith.

Just as, heaven help her, each moment had been proof of his.

He remained calm, although his face had paled to a stony bleakness. “Do you intend to tell me why?”

How she hurt him. She knew and hated it. But she had to do this. A duke and a whore could have no future. Or no future where they could live in honor. Each day they spent together only made the inevitable parting more painful and delayed him from doing what he must.

Or so her mind told her.

Her heart insisted no pain could be worse than what she suffered now.

She gathered her courage into a tight knot. Now she must become all Soraya. Proud, determined, cold. Verity’s yearning heart mustn’t deflect her from what she must do. “In London, we had an agreement. If either partner wanted to end the liaison, it was over. Well, I want to end it, Your Grace.”

He winced at her use of his title as if she struck him. “Is that the best you can do? Good-bye and good luck and we go our separate ways?” he said sharply. “Damn you, I think you owe me more than that. What the hell is going on, Verity? Why did everything change when I mentioned leaving the glen?”

She should have known he wouldn’t just accept her decision to abandon him without question or argument. She couldn’t tell him the truth; he’d never accept her reasons for going. He believed he warranted nothing better than a strumpet for a duchess.

But she knew differently. She came to him with a ruined soul, when he needed someone good and pure and whole.

Someone who was everything Soraya was not.

She turned her head away, unwilling to watch his pain and bewilderment. “I’ve known I had to leave for a long time.” She fought to maintain her controlled tone. “It’s time for you to take up your life and for me to take up mine.”

“You are my life! I won’t allow you to go,” he said wildly, tugging her around to him. “Don’t do this, mo cridhe!”

She stood unmoving in his bruising grasp and gazed up into his tormented face. “In honor, you can demand nothing of me. You said you’d never force me again. Is your word worth nothing? If you truly have changed from the man who abducted me, you won’t prolong this discussion.”

She was cruel to use his sins as leverage to gain her freedom, just as she was cruel to remind him of that magical night when she’d finally given herself with her whole heart.

His face was ashen as he released her. “So yet again, you desert me with no explanation? At least this time I suppose I’m grateful you told me you’re going.”

“Oh, try and find it in you to forgive me!” she cried, her resolution failing as she reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched away before she made contact. She mourned the spontaneous caresses of only minutes ago.

“Madam, it’s your prerogative to leave. It’s mine to feel what rancor I wish.”

“So…so you won’t compel me to stay with you?” she asked unsteadily. Had she been wicked enough to hope he would?

He shook his head. “My crimes against you are unforgivable. Because of what I did, I endangered your life. I acknowledge I have no right to keep you. I’d…” Her heart contracted in misery as his flat voice broke briefly, revealing the blistering agony beneath his calm facade. “I’d hoped you’d stay of your own will. But clearly that is impossible after all I’ve done.”

His formality reminded her of the self-contained lover in Kensington. The contrast with the man she’d come to know made her want to scream. He’d had a lifetime of stifling his real emotions. She felt like the worst sort of traitor for forcing him back into his frozen insulation.

“I’m sorry, Kylemore,” she said unhappily, loving him, hating herself.

A quickly masked anger darkened his eyes before they took on the hooded expression she’d wanted never to see again.

“So am I, madam.” He stalked toward the door. “We shall leave tomorrow as planned. From Kylemore Castle, I’ll escort you to Whitby.”

A drawn-out farewell would exceed her frail limits. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he snapped with a resurgence of anger. “I removed you from your home by force. I am obliged to see you return safely.” He bowed coldly in her direction and left the room before she could muster an argument.