Page 130 of A Foolish Flirtation

“How would I know that? You never told me anything. You just kissed me senseless, and then left me at the bottom of the stairs, while you stood at the top of them and announced you were to be wed. It was the most painful night of my life!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “So very, very painful, and you will never understand how I felt! Standing at the foot of those stairs while you—while you—”

“You think I do not understand a broken heart?” he interrupted her incredulously. “How do you think I felt having to make that bloody announcement? I had been dreading it since the day I met you. It had not bothered me particularly in the beginning. Marriage was just a duty, like many others that were incumbent on my position. And then I met you, at the Wallingfords’ tea party in Cavendish Square.”

She gave a start. “What? You didn’t think I’d remember the occasion I first saw you?” he asked challengingly. “Well, I do. Even in that moment, when I first laid eyes on you, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.” He glanced across the room, at his side table as though looking for something. Then he seemed to recall himself, unclenching his fists and taking a steadying breath.

“If you imagine you were the only one who suffered then you are wrong,” he said unsteadily. “Knowing the announcement was drawing closer and closer with each day, and that we would have to part… I had to drink like a demon even to get through it. If I had not…” His words trailed off angrily, and he shook his head.

“I never should have imposed on you like I did but I could never regret that time, how could I? It was the only time I have ever—” He could not continue for a minute. “Been truly happy,” he concluded after a heavy pause. “It was wrong of me,” he said again, his voice hoarse, “but, I have never, ever forgotten a single moment I spent in your company, and that kiss we shared is my most precious memory of all.” His voice shook.

“I have never entered a garden room, or an orangery, or anything remotely resembling a conservatory that did not make me think of it. Amanda knew I did not love her and that my heart belonged to another from the start. I got disgustingly drunk on our honeymoon and told her so. Not that she cared, not really. She just thought it was her due that every man should adore her. She was a little put out to learn her new bridegroom did not care tuppence for her and never would though.”

Emmie stared at him. “You surely did not tell her that I was the object of your affection?” she asked incredulously.

“I didn’t have to tell her.” He shot her an ironic look. “You and I had danced very near to the flame together that season. It had not escaped everyone’s attention. Amanda lacked many things, but intelligence was not one of them.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “You almost make me feel sorry for her! To be told that by your new bridegroom…”

“Your pity is quite wasted on her. We neither of us married for love.”

“Still…there is such a thing as rubbing salt in the wound.”

Jeremy laughed. “Well, she made sure to return the favor over the next nine years, let me assure you.”

“Besides,” Emmie said, ignoring this comment. “We did not marry for love either.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You may not have done,” he said at last, leaving Emmie open-mouthed. He turned and walked over to a side cabinet where a jug of water and some glasses stood. Pouring himself a glass, he tossed it down. Emmie wondered if he had looked around earlier because he had felt in need of a more fortifying drink than water. She remembered he had not drunk the brandy Nye had proffered.

Swallowing, she opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her. “I wish you would extend to me some of the forgiveness you see fit to lavish on Stockton,” he said, still facing the wall. “But no, when it comes to your husband who adores you, you insist on believing that I married you as some sort of penance and whimsical indulgence of my son!”

“I—I never said that!” she stammered.

He turned about to face her. “I love you, Emmeline. You loved me too, once. I know you did. If you could only find it in your heart to forgive me, then you might be able to feel something for me again. Won’t you at least try?” This last was an appeal that cut right to the heart of her. She stared at him bereft of speech.

When she did not speak, an obstinate look stole over his countenance. “I won’t give up hoping for that, Emmeline. And I may as well tell you now that I am building a conservatory to commemorate our marriage. A conservatory that Wimble is designing for me. I mean to make it the grandest and most ostentatious conservatory in the country and then, I mean to seduce you in it, successfully this time, and to feed you grapes and do every other decadent thing with you that I’ve dreamed of doing with you and to you for years and years!”

His chest heaved. “I’m tired of trying to be the perfect, considerate husband to you, Emmeline, so you’re just going to get the one you’ve got. Faulty, far from perfect, and frequently wrong.”

“I’m perfectly happy with the one I’ve got,” she protested, but clearly not loudly enough, for he carried on as though she had not spoken.

“If you think I am going to respectfully retire from the field, you are quite mistaken in my character. I’m going to build that bloody conservatory and that ridiculous amphitheater and whatever the hell else takes my fancy in my stupid, hopeless quest to try and win your heart.

“I don’t care what it takes, but it might be kind of you to give me some pointers somewhere along the way, as I clearly am not hitting the right targets. Fair warning, though, I mean to go all out now, so you’d better prepare yourself for an onslaught.”

He said the words so direly that Emmie did not know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she hurried across the room and threw her arms about him. He caught her, a surprised look on his face, and they lurched over to a convenient sofa, which they both collapsed upon.

For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, then his lips were seeking hers with a desperate urgency she was only too happy to assuage. “Ballentine,” he panted between kisses, “could you ever—?” She was too eager for his kisses to find out what he was asking her specifically. Instead, she tried to assure him with the enthusiasm of her embrace that she would deny him nothing.

Eventually, she drew back, reluctant to part, but eager to hear the words again. “You—you always loved me, then?” she said, half fearing she had misunderstood him. “Even ten years ago?”

“I loved you desperately. I was so fucking miserable that season, because I knew at the close of it, I would be married to Amanda. I only felt alive on a handful of occasions that entire twelve weeks. You want to know when? It was during every snatched moment I spent with you. The rest of it, I spent numbing myself with drink. How’s that for a confession, Ballentine?” Her eyes filled with tears, but she could not speak. “Or how about the fact I was perilously close to making you an entirely disgraceful offer.” His gaze fell away from hers.

Her heart skipped a beat. “What kind of offer?”

“Becoming my mistress,” he said harshly. “I had nothing else to offer you. Only the fact I respected you and had a strong suspicion you would hate me afterward prevented me. I wrote you a letter in Italy that I had to burn. I behaved disgustingly around you. I can hardly stand remembering how I conducted myself that season. I have tried to forget it ever since.” He looked so shamefaced that Emmie could not look away.

“I wouldn’t have hated you,” she admitted quietly. “I could not have accepted, of course, but actually, I think I would have been rather flattered in a foolish sort of way.”

“Emmeline,” he groaned. “Don’t. Do not make me regret my past any more than I do already.”