Page 76 of As the Devil Dares

He forced back a curse and ground out, “Because of Winslow Shipping?”

“No.” A tear escaped down her cheek. “Because he’s dead, Robert. No matter how hard you work, no matter how successful you become, he’ll never know, and you’ll have spent your life chasing after an approval which will never come. It cannot, not now—” A soft sob choked in her throat. “It never will.”

Guilt that he was causing her pain clawed at his gut, but she didn’t understand. Could never understand. “So I should just give up,” he drawled bitterly, “surrender the partnership?”

“No!” She cupped his face and brought him down for another kiss, this one meant to both silence and reassure in equal measure. “I’m not saying that.”

He turned his head away before her lips could touch his, and she stiffened at his rejection. “Yes, you are.”

He untangled her arms from around his shoulders and shoved himself out of the bed. She scrambled to sit up, clutching at the blanket to cover herself as he stomped away.

“Perhaps I am,” she explained calmly, yet the frustration in her voice was palpable. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly the reason,” he muttered. He snatched up his breeches and yanked them on. “Even now you can’t stand the thought that I’ll be able to prove myself to my father’s memory when you’ll never be able to prove yourself to yours.”

She flinched at the harshness behind his attack, yet he only felt a momentary pang of guilt that he’d wounded her. She was overstepping now, by a goodly ways, and the prick of chastisement he’d leveled was nothing compared to the anguish she set burning inside him.

He pulled his shirt on over his head and didn’t bother with the cravat as he slipped into his waistcoat. The faster he could dress, the faster he could leave. And to think that less than an hour ago he didn’t want to let her out of his arms.

“What happened to your father was an accident,” she tried again. “And you need to stop blaming your—”

“Don’t,” he ground out, his eyes narrowing on her. “Don’t tell me what I need to do, Mariah. What happened between us tonight does not give you that right.”

She fell silent. He expected her chin to rise, for the pride in her to surge to the surface the way it always did whenever they fought, for her to retort with some scathing reply—but she didn’t. She only sat there unmoving on the bed, her eyes glistening in the dim light from the stove.

He turned away to stomp into his boots, doing his best to ignore the tightening of his chest at the sight of her tears. And the unbearable knowledge that he’d put them there. He muttered, “You don’t understand. You never will.”

“I lost a parent, too,” she whispered softly, so softly that the sound sliced into his heart, “and I used to blame myself. But I know that—”

“You don’t know a damned thing!” He wheeled on her, fury pulsing through him. He clenched his teeth so hard that the muscle jumped in his neck. “You didn’t kill your mother!”

She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. For a heartbeat she said nothing, stunned into silence as she stared at him.

Then she breathed out, so softly that her voice wasn’t even a whisper, “And you didn’t kill your father.” She leaned toward him, as if she could physically convince him. “His death was an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident that he had to hunt down his son from a gambling hell, smelling of gin and prostitutes.” He angrily began to pace the small room, too furious at himself to stand still. “He shouldn’t have been there. He should have been safe at home with Mother.” His hand shook violently as he raked it through his hair. “If I hadn’t been there, if I had been the son he deserved—”

“You are, Robert,” she insisted softly.

“Not that night I wasn’t. Not only was I the son who disappointed him—” The words choked around the knot in his throat. He sucked in a ragged breath, then admitted in a hoarse voice, “I was too drunk to help him.”

“He hit his head,” she whispered with a soft shake of hers. “There was nothing you could have—”

“You weren’t there! You didn’t see the look on his face or hear his words, and you’ll never be able to understand the hell I’ve gone through since.”

She reached for him. “Robert, please—”

“Stop,” he hissed, pulling back to keep her from touching him. He couldn’t have borne it.

He started toward the door. The urge inside him to flee was overwhelming…from the ghosts of what happened that night, from her kindness and sympathy that only brought more pain, from having to face the truth of what she was saying.

From the moment he’d learned she’d lost her mother, he’d hoped she’d be able to understand his pain, but that was all he’d wanted—understanding. He sure as hell wasn’t seeking absolution in her arms.

He paused at the door, his hand on the handle, as he tried to think of something to say to her, some parting comment to make her understand. But nothing came. His mind spun too fast to sort through all that had occurred between them tonight. So he stood there, breathing deeply and trying to find his way through the riot of emotions that engulfed him. That pulled at him to finally take him under and drown him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mariah said softly.

He felt the heat of her as she came up behind him and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. “He was there because of me.”