In the Night (38 page)

Her eyes were filled with sadness as she gazed at him. “I would have tried, if only you had given me the chance. And what did lying accomplish? It still ended badly, did it not?”

Ended. Wynthrope’s heart faltered. Was that it? Was it really over? He had just admitted to her that he had been terrified of losing her, even so early in their relationship, and she didn’t even acknowledge what a revelation it was. He had never told anyone he was afraid of losing her. It was the next thing to admitting he loved her, a notion he wasn’t about to
entertain. But it hurt like hell to think he might never hold her again.

Well, what had he expected? That she’d welcome him back with open arms?

“What do you want from me, Moira?” He was pathetic and whiny and he didn’t care. He would do whatever she asked, whatever she demanded. He would do it if it meant she would just take him back.

Her face was stark white now, all the flush long having faded away to a wan resignation that clawed at his soul. “Nothing I have to ask for…No, wait.”

His heart tripped again.

“I have a question I would like answered. Honestly.”

“All right.” Answering one question couldn’t possibly make this conversation any more agonizing.

But he was about to find out that it could.

“What if I had not woken up that night?” Her gaze was clear, her chin trembling ever so slightly as she faced him down. “Was your plan to steal the tiara and continue our relationship for as long as it suited until you would not have been a suspect when I noticed the tiara gone?”

Christ, it sounded so cold when she said it. When he remembered that was exactly what he had planned, it made his flesh crawl. He wouldn’t have done it to hurt her, only to protect everyone involved.

To protect himself.

But he had changed his mind. He had decided not to steal it, and that was when she woke up. Still, that didn’t change his original intent—a plan he had concocted before going to her house that night.

“Your silence is answer enough.” Disgust—no,
disillusionment
—colored her tone.

“Moira, you do not understand.” He grabbed her arm as
she turned to walk away. He had to explain. He had to make her understand that regardless of his actions, he had never wanted to hurt her.

“No.” She shook her head, casting a betrayed glance in his direction. “I do not believe I can. I want to, but I cannot.”

“Tell me what to do to make this up to you and I will do it.” There was that pathetic edge again.

“It does not work that way, Wynthrope,” she informed him as she pulled her arm free of his grip. He let her go, even though he could have forced her to stay. “You have to want to make it up to me, and you have to do it on your own. If I tell you, I will always wonder if you were sincere, and you may regret my demanding such things of your pride.”

“You cannot be serious!” He gaped at her in disbelief. She was going to toss away everything they’d had because he couldn’t read her mind? What kind of logic was this?

“I am.” She looked so terribly sad. “And now I think you had better leave.”

Yes, he thought so too, because he would surely go mad if he stayed.

After Wynthrope left, Moira sat alone on the window seat in her library, her body spasming with quiet, soul-wrenching sobs that she could not control.

Had she been wrong to send him away? She had wanted so badly to stop fighting her instincts and simply wrap her arms around him and tell him it was all right, but she couldn’t. It would have been a lie, and she would never truly know if he regretted his actions or not.

Oh, she knew that he regretted being caught, but she didn’t know if he truly regretted how he had gone about setting up the situation. Even if he had never intended to hurt her. Even if he had planned to return the tiara all along, he had to have known that she would be hurt by his actions. He
had to have known that she would suspect his interest in her was based on his interest in the tiara, that he hadn’t meant anything he had said to her.

She’d believed him all those times he told her the depth of the effect she had on him. She believed when he said that he wanted her. Yes, he had injured her pride. Yes, that was a big obstacle in her forgiving him. An even bigger obstacle was that he didn’t seem to realize that he had yet to ask her to forgive him.

He had asked many things—what she wanted from him, for example. But she wasn’t about to make it that easy for him. He would tell her he was sorry the minute she requested it, and she would always wonder if he meant it. And she knew she had been right—one day he might very well come to resent her for demanding he swallow his pride in such a manner, and he might wonder if she truly forgave him.

And in a close, narrow part of her mind, she didn’t give a damn what he wanted, or how things might appear to him. She was still hurt and angry, and if he didn’t ask for her to forgive him as she needed him to, then resentment would fester within her until it threatened to destroy whatever kind of relationship they managed to build. No, he would have to apologize if he wanted her, or not have her at all.

It wasn’t that she thought herself better than he, or more deserving of trust or understanding. She was just as foolish and distrustful as he was, but for different reasons. She truly believed he didn’t trust people because it was safer for him that way. She had a difficult time trusting people, even though she wanted to, because she could never really bring herself to believe that they actually liked her. Wynthrope had started to change that. He had made her feel better about herself. When he was around she didn’t care what other people thought of her, and not because his opinion was all that
mattered. No. He made her feel as though she was wonderful and worthy. Her
own
opinion of herself had changed for a brief moment, and she’d actually begun to think of herself as someone good and strong and pretty.

And then he had taken it all away, leaving her feeling like that same fat girl who could never do anything to please her mother, who was always less than her perfect sisters. She hated being reminded of those feelings, hated being that girl again.

Maybe the things he said to her were false, but her reaction hadn’t been. It would take some time, but she wanted more than anything to regain that feeling of validation, the comfort of being in her own skin. She would reclaim it someday, but it was going to take a while. And it wasn’t going to be because a man—or anyone else—gave her permission to feel that way. It would be because
she
gave herself permission.

She would not emerge from this bowed, not when she had walked into it fully aware that she was taking a risk by offering herself to Wynthrope Ryland. She just hadn’t considered that the risk might be to something far more vulnerable than her social standing. She hadn’t truly considered what might happen if he broke her heart. Then again, she hadn’t considered falling in love.

Perhaps she had simply wanted love so badly, she had jumped at the chance to taste it, but if that were the case, she would have taken a bite long ago. It wasn’t as though she had never known love. Her parents might not be the sort of people a child wishes for, but she’d had grandparents and aunts and uncles who loved her, especially her dear aunt Emily. Tony had loved her, and his family had welcomed her as one of their own. She knew what it was to be loved and accepted, just not by a man. Not as a man loves a woman.

She still did not know, because Wynthrope Ryland did
not love her, at least not to her knowledge. As much as her heart longed for it, her mind insisted that it would be for the best if he didn’t love her. If this was his idea of love, it did not bode well for their future. Nothing boded well for their future.

She cried out at last, wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and blew her nose until she was too tired to blow anymore. Belatedly she realized it was his handkerchief she had used. How ironically appropriate. Her head ached and her eyes burned, and there was a hollowness in her chest that filled her with dread, because she knew now what it meant.

She was in love with Wynthrope Ryland.

It didn’t matter that he had hurt her, she still loved him. In fact, she loved him even more for it in some ways. He had betrayed her to protect himself, yes, but his first conscious thought had been of his brother. How could she not love someone who would put family before himself? If she thought about it long enough she could understand his logic, she could even understand why he hadn’t trusted her, but it didn’t take away the pain. It didn’t take away the feeling that everything she had thought existed between them had disappeared into smoke.

God, when would this stop? She was going to go mad at this rate. She would never risk falling in love again, not if this was what awaited her. To think that she had regretted not marrying for love. Now she was glad for it.

“I see I have arrived just in time.”

She closed her eyes on a smile as Nathaniel entered the room. Despite the lingering remorse at seeing him move so stiffly, he was a welcome distraction, even though he would no doubt want to discuss Wynthrope. He was something she could cling to, siphon strength from until her own returned. He could help her make sense of the situation and tell her if she had been too harsh on Wynthrope, or not harsh enough.
He could provide rational thought, as she had lost all capacity to do so for herself.

And most of all, he could provide a shoulder for her to weep on, because even though her reservoir of tears had run dry for the time being, it would no doubt fill again.

“You are a most welcome diversion from this melancholy,” she informed him as she sat down on the opposite side of the seat.

He leaned his back against the window frame and pulled her feet into his lap. “Good. Today is the first day in four that it has not rained. You deserve a respite.”

She smiled at him, feeling some of the heaviness lift from her heart. Nathaniel always had a way of making her feel better.

And fortunately he looked better himself. His face looked its normal self again, save for a couple of small cuts that were still healing and the faint yellowing of a bruise or two. He had told people he had fallen on ice in front of Moira’s door. That explained his injuries and why he stayed at her house in her care.

Another person lying to protect Wynthrope Ryland and his secrets. One might almost think his secrets were more important than anyone else’s. True, Wynthrope’s secrets were ones most people would fight to keep, secrets that could ruin him or send him to prison, but were they any worse than Nathaniel’s? Her own secrets could have destroyed the life she knew and could have sent her back to the mother who had never been anything but hateful toward her. Were her secrets less than Wynthrope’s? No, not in her own estimation, but then he might disagree since his secrets were, of course, his own.

“So why the tears, my love?” Nathaniel patted her lightly on the knee. “Did he not come again today?”

They both knew who “he” was. “Actually, he was here before you.”

Her friend frowned in confusion. “Then why the tears? Did he not throw himself at your feet and beg you to take him back?”

She sniffed, her fingers pulling at her damp hanky. “He offered to do whatever I wanted.”

Nathaniel’s bewilderment did not fade. “And the problem with that would be…?”

She stared at him. He did not think it obvious? “I should not have to tell him what to do, he should know!”

Her friend chuckled at her petulant tone, but it was not mocking or hurtful. “My dear girl, he is a
man
. You cannot expect him to know what you want. They never do.”

Did her friend not realize that he was of that sex as well? “Anyone should know enough to apologize for their actions,” she insisted, believing in her heart that it was true. “He has not. In fact, he acts as though I should jump at the chance to forgive him.”

“Probably just wishful thinking on his behalf.” Nathaniel’s tone was wry. “Do you want to forgive him?”

“Yes, blast it all.” She crumpled the damp handkerchief in her fist as her resolve crumpled within her. “I want to forgive the bounder, but I cannot.”

Nathaniel nodded knowingly. “Pride.”

“It is not just pride!” She yanked her feet from his lap and sat upright. How thoroughly sick she was of being told it was her pride that had been wounded. That her pride was what held her back. It was not true! “It is necessary. How can I know he is truly sorry if he does not tell me?”

He looked truly sorry for her, something Moira didn’t appreciate at this moment. “By his actions, pet.”

“His actions! How can I trust those? He acted like he adored me and then he stole from me!” God, her head was pounding now.

“
Tried
to steal from you.”

“Do not argue minute details with me now, Nathaniel!” This was not the time to get picky about details. The intent was there, and he had as good as admitted that if she hadn’t caught him she
never
would have known the truth. “All I want is a simple apology. I want him to tell me he is sorry. I want him to ask me to forgive him and have him promise that he will trust me in the future. Is that too much to ask?”

Her friend shook his head, all traces of amusement gone. “I do not think so.”

Moira hung her head as tears threatened again. “I do not want my forgiveness to be taken for granted. I gave him my trust as well as my body and he took all I had to offer and more. I want him to offer himself to me. I want to know that I alone hold his heart, that he is at his most vulnerable when he is with me. Maybe that is asking too much, but it is what I want.”

Nathaniel put his arm around her shoulders as tears trickled down her cheeks, and pulled her against his chest. She had to be an uncomfortable weight against his ribs, but he didn’t seem to care. “Oh my dear girl. You are in love with the brute, aren’t you?”

She nodded, the wool of his coat rough against her cheek. “I fear so.”

He stroked her hair. “Have you any idea of his feelings for you?”

This time she shook her head as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “He must feel something, else he wouldn’t be trying so hard to woo me, would he?” It might be nothing more than the hope of a fool that made her say such things, but in her heart, she believed.