Page 75 of An Extraordinary Lord

Veronica couldn’t bear to look at him as he sat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently for her to explain, so she moved around the room to pick up the pieces of clothing she’d discarded as she’d bared herself to him. She had to keep busy for fear of glimpsing the bewildered look that was surely on his face, and for fear of rushing back into his arms and begging him to make love to her one last time.

She wouldn’t argue, cry, beg—she wouldn’t do any of those things silly misses did because of love. She simply didn’t have it in her. But she did have her pride, and she would never let him see how much anguish churned inside her.

She picked up the shift and saw the blood stains. Just another reminder of how her real world was destroying the fantasy he’d created for her tonight. There was no hope for her here. Or for them.

“Explain,” he finally ordered, quietly but brooking no refusal.

“I have to leave London,” she repeated.

“Why?”

“I can’t stay.”

“You can. London’s your home now.”

“Not the one I want.” Exasperation slammed into her. He didn’t understand at all.

“Once you have your pardon, you—”

“And you, Merritt?” She wheeled on him as she unleashed the truth. “Will I ever have you?”

As soon as the question passed her lips, she regretted it. Shame and embarrassment surged into her chest, right up her neck and into a hot flush in her cheeks. She was such a cake! To even venture the idea of wanting a life with him, when he’d most likely thought nothing of her beyond the end of his bed—no, not a cake. A damn fool.

Yet she somehow found the resolve to not look away as he silently returned her gaze with a stunned one of his own.

But when his confused expression melted into guilt and grief, her heart melted with it.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’m not some goose of a society girl dreaming of marriage. I know how impossible you are for me. I’ve known it all along.”

Unable to bear whatever he might say to try to console her—and knowing he couldn’t contradict her—she turned away and pulled on her shift. A thin barrier that did little to protect her.

“A foreign lord’s bastard daughter with a respectable baron, a King’s Counsel with a confessed criminal…” Even as she said the words, the impossibility of it crashed over her. She covered the slump of her shoulders in anguished acceptance by fussing with the shift’s straps. “A pardon would make no difference to any of that.”

None. His career would still be ruined, his barony turned into a laughingstock, and his reputation destroyed. Perhaps his father’s right along with his. And her as a baroness—simply laughable!

“I didn’t come here tonight to try to persuade you differently.”I came here because I love you. Because I needed to bare my soul to you just as much as I wanted to bare my body, to draw on your strength and resolve.Because I needed you the way I have never needed another man in my life.She shrugged. “I wanted to be in your bed. That’s all.”

At that blatant lie, she bent over to slip on her stockings and blinked hard. Once. That was the only emotion she would allow herself. She’d accepted that tonight would be their only intimacy, knew she had to live on without him…yet, oh God, how much it hurt!

She hesitated as she reached for her stays. How would she ever put them on without his help? She choked back a sob. How would she manage to survive at all without him?

“As I said,” she forced past the knot in her throat, as much to convince herself as him, “I came to say good—”

“You’re right, Veronica. You are impossible for me,” he admitted hoarsely. “But not at all for the reason you think.”

The grief in his voice thundered through her. So did the realization that he was standing right behind her, having come up silently until he stood a handful of inches away. She held her breath, not daring to move.

“Her name was Joanna Gordon.” The wretched sadness in his voice chilled her to the bone. “She was my fiancée.”

“You don’t have to tell me about her,” she whispered. “I don’t need to know.”

Didn’twantto know. How could she bear to hear about how much he’d loved another woman, even a dead one, when his musky scent still lingered on her?

“Her name was Joanna,” he repeated. He took her shoulders and drew her back against him. “We’d grown up together. Our parents were longtime friends, and a marriage was expected.” He slipped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “She was a good and kind woman, pretty, well educated. The perfect sort to be a barrister’s wife.” He paused. “And I loved her.”

Harsh jealousy sliced into her.

“She died before we could marry.”