Hers.
He tore his lips from hers far too soon, forcing her to hold his gaze. “You can come with me now.”
Hope rose, fervent and foolish. “But Cousin Bartholomew has threatened you.”
“Threats don’t scare me, and neither does your arsehole of a cousin.”
She believed him. “You do not know what he is capable of in the way I do.”
Another gust of wind blew, threatening to tear the hat from her head. Their horses were moving restlessly, reminding Persephone of just how precarious this moment was.
Rafe remained unmoved, his countenance harsh, determination evident in the rigid set of his jaw. “Let him come to the East End for me. I’ll be waiting, and it ain’t going to end well for ’im.”
Of course he would want to protect her, even at his own expense. He had done so before.
She shook her head, the denial cutting through her heart as viscerally as a knife. “No, Rafe.”
His beautiful lips tightened. “Why did you leave?”
“Because I had to.” Because I love you, and I lied to you.
If he was here, he knew she had lied.
Didn’t he?
The rain was falling with increased determination now, the mist turning into fully formed drops. In no time, they would be soaked to the skin if it turned into the deluge the distant leaden skies promised.
“Is it because you fear what he’ll do to me?”
“No.” A shiver tore through her, desperation and sadness chasing the initial elation that had lit her up like fireworks. “It was because I was living a lie, and I could not bear to remain, continuing my charade, knowing I would lose you.”
It was the closest she dared come to admitting that she loved him.
He caught a tear on her cheek with his thumb. “Why would you lose me?”
“Because I have been lying to you, and because I feared you would not forgive me when you discovered the secrets I have been keeping.” And because you never told me you loved me, and my heart will always belong to you.
“You were lying to protect yourself, lovely. I understand. There ain’t a bleeding thing to forgive. Come with me now. I’ll keep you safe. I vow it on my life.”
He was so earnest, and he was looking at her now with such unguarded reverence that a new torrent of tears emerged, mingling with the rain.
“Oh, Rafe. Where would we go? There is nowhere Cousin Bartholomew will not find us now.”
“I’m staying at Abingdon Hall as a guest of Mr. Devereaux Winter. We’ll be safe there until I can get us to London.”
Abingdon Hall was the neighboring estate.
Which meant that flight might truly be possible.
But Rafe had still said nothing of love or marriage.
“Have you come to rescue me?” she asked, needing to know. “What shall we do after we return to London?”
“We will be married, if you wish it. And if you don’t, you’ll still be better off than you are here, forced into marriage with your scoundrel of a cousin.”
Marriage. To Rafe. Her heart leapt at the chance, foolishly rejoicing. She would love nothing better. But if he was offering only because of the terrible circumstances in which she had found herself, out of pity, or because he felt that he had to do so, she would not be able to bear it.
“You do not have to marry me to save me from my cousin or out of some sense of obligation because of what happened between us.”