Page 60 of Redemption

But had I meant it?

Yesterday, he confessed that he would die without me. The man who fell to his knees and literally offered me his heart wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t be capable of it.

Nothing will erase the pain he’s caused me. Nothing can undo the stalking and kidnapping. The lies and the heartbreak.

But I don’t think he’ll hurt me again.

When he first brought me to England, I railed at him that he was tormenting me, that he was my own personal monster. He hadn’t listened. Convincing him that he’d wronged me seemed impossible.

Now, he’s apologized. He acknowledged that he caused me immense pain. And it was so much more than a simpleI’m sorry.

I’ll be better for you, Abigail. I will never be worthy of you, but I’ll be better. I swear.

And last night, he was so raw. He told me how he watched his twin sister die because of his father’s carelessness. He welcomed my comforting touch, as though he needed to feel me.

I thought he was a complete psychopath. But he does seem to feel something for me. Maybe it’s every bit as cruelly possessive and obsessive as he claimed. That doesn’t change the fact that my ravaged heart feels tethered to his by a gossamer thread.

We both have emotional wounds inflicted by our families. It was one of the first things that bonded me to him.

That had nothing to do with his stalking, nothing to do with the thrilling fear I experienced around him—the fizzy sensation I’d mistaken for lust.

This part of our connection has always been real: we’ve both been subject to abuse.

It made me kind, but it made him cold.

I never want to hurt anyone the way my parents hurt me. But Dane seems to have shut off his feelings entirely to avoid the pain.

He was only five years old when he watched his sister die. I can’t imagine the psychological damage that inflicts on a child.

“What are you thinking about?” Dane’s eyeing me almost warily.

I realize I’ve fallen a few steps behind him, and I’ve been staring at him like I can peer into his mind if I just look hard enough.

I cut my gaze away and study the stunning landscape. We’re walking along a vaguely marked footpath through an idyllic field dotted with sheep.

Dr. Graham has deemed that I’m well enough for light exercise, and I jumped at the chance to explore the countryside. For weeks, the stunning views from the manor’s windows have been tempting me to paint the rolling hills, but I was too focused on my anguished self-portrait.

“Can we talk more about last night?” I ask after a moment.

He pauses, then leans back against a dry-stone wall. His posture is casual, but there’s a defensiveness in his crossed arms.

“What do you want to know?”

I know this topic will be painful for him, but I have to understand him better. And not just so that I can formulate an escape plan. I’m starting to accept that I simply long to know everything about him.

Some secret part of me wants to justify opening my heart to him.

I’m nowhere near loving him again, but I do feel compassion for him.

And yearning for the man who knelt before me and promised to give me the world. All he wants is me. The knowledge is heady and terribly tempting. I’ve been alone for so long, and Dane promises complete and utter devotion.

I consider my next question carefully. I could ask why he decided to assault me as the masked man again, but I fear that his answers will be the same as before. He thinks it was the best way to win my heart.

That subject is too painful to contemplate, so instead I ask, “What were your parents like with you? After Katie died?”

His brow furrows. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I told you how my family treated me when I was a child. Is it too much to ask for the same in return?”

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