“And that makes it all right? You could kill Clune. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Taking another man’s life?”
He raised his head to stare fixedly at her. “Honor won’t permit me to back down.”
“This is not about honor! This is two spoiled, reckless schoolboys fighting over a prize.” Vanessa swallowed the fierce ache in her throat. “I won’t stay to watch. I can’t bear the thought of your killing another man-or worse, being hurt or killed yourself. I am leaving.”
His gaze took in her traveling cloak. “Where will you go?”
“Home, to my family. I mean to take the stage.”
“What about our bargain?”
She stared into eyes as gray as a storm. “My term as your mistress is nearly up. If my leaving means that I forfeit our wager, then so be it.”
His expression remained impassive.
Vanessa bit her lip to contain her frustration. “You wanted to know why I refused your proposal,” she said finally. “This is why.” She gestured angrily at the dueling pistols. “I could never be certain if you would return home to me alive or dead. I still have nightmares about Roger’s death. About his life and the scandals he caused. I won’t go through that again.”
She might have been talking to a stone statue for all the emotion Damien showed.
The fury that filled her vibrated in her voice. “Do you know what is so incomprehensible? Why you insist on wasting your life, living this meaningless existence. Your Hellfire League is bent on self-gratification and carnal indulgence, but has your profligacy ever brought you any real joy?”
Damien simply looked at her and smiled a slow, cynical smile. “And if I were to swear off debauchery? Would I then meet your standards of eligibility? Would I become worthy of being your husband?”
There was a terrible sense of raw tension vibrating in the air around him.
“You want a bloody saint,” Damien said grimly when she made no reply.
She stared into his eyes, but she could read nothing of his feelings for her; he had locked his heart away.
“No, I don’t want a saint. I want a man who loves me. Only me. I want a husband who will hold his marriage vows sacred, who won’t betray me with other women. Someone I can trust not to plunge himself into the next scandal-or be killed in a senseless duel!”
For the first time he showed a response. His jaw clenched. “I am nothing like your late husband.”
“No? There is little difference between you that I can see.”
Their locked gazes warred. Vanessa could hear the sharp sound of her own breathing in the intense quiet of the room.
Her throat constricted when she realized she was getting nowhere. “Damien…” Her voice softened to a plea. “You could do so much with your talents, your wealth. I’ve seen your devotion to your sister, and at times even your indulgent friendship toward me. You have a vast potential to live a life of significance and meaning, and you insist on throwing it away in empty pursuits.”
His smile was oddly, chillingly sweet. “You had better leave then, before I shatter any more of your illusions.”
“Yes,” she agreed, her voice low, desolate.
“Take my traveling carriage. It’s safer than the stage.”
She nodded, her throat burning. She turned to go, but when she reached the door, she faltered.
“How could I have deluded myself so?” she asked bleakly. “Fool that I am, I thought I loved you. I was wrong. You aren’t the kind of man I could ever love.”
She could feel his shocked stillness in the hush that followed.
“Vanessa…”
She heard Damien rise, heard his footsteps behind her. She tensed as his strong arms reached out to draw her back against him.
He murmured her name again hoarsely. “Vanessa, stay.”
She could feel the seductive power of his plea, his warmth, shaking her resolve, shredding her will.