Page 130 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Did I get it all?” she asked.
He swallowed. He was looking into her eyes in the mirror, but eventually, his gaze dropped to her shoulder.
“Yes,” he finally rasped. “It looks like an iron burn.”
“There. I’ll just say I couldn’t sleep and was experimenting with the iron. It was late, I was clumsy, and it slipped.”
He nodded, but his eyes were excruciatingly sad. “And now I’ve made you into a liar.”
“What?” Her gaze jerked to his, but he’d already turned away. “No! Bram—”
Too late. He resettled his clothing, then headed for the window.
He paused there, his expression completely locked down. But in his eyes—right above the swollen bruise on his cheek—she saw the swirl of some dark and intense emotion. She had no label for it. She knew that he was thinking something that meant a great deal to him.
But he didn’t speak. A moment later, he swung himself out and was gone. And this time, he didn’t even kiss her before he left.
She stared at the open window for the longest time. Then she looked in the mirror, her gaze finding the burn mark that still smelled acrid. Odd how the pain of that mark was nothing compared to the emptiness in her heart.
She’d offered him her love. Over and over again, she’d told him what she felt. But he never said the words back. She’d told herself she didn’t care. She knew he loved her. She felt it in every look, every touch, every breath.
But words mattered. She hadn’t thought they did, but she saw now how important they were. Because every time he held the words back, she knew he was protecting himself. He was never going to marry her, so by holding back the words, it wouldn’t hurt so much when she gave herself to another man.
She understood his choice. And now, finally, she understood her own. She couldn’t give her body to a man who would not give his heart back to her. She couldn’t nightly love a man who held back his feelings.
Which meant she had to end these visits. She had to stop hoping for more from Bram.
He would never give her what she wanted. And holding out hope kept her from fully searching for a husband. She had to cut him from her body and her heart because she had to find a husband by the Season’s end. Her grandfather had said so. He was not going to fund another season.
So if she couldn’t marry Bram, it had to be someone else. She would not go back to Hull and her small life there. She was so resolved she said it aloud to her reflection.
“I will marry someone this month.”
And yet it took three more weeks before she had the strength to truly break with Bram. She wanted to give him one last chance to choose her. And even then, she took the coward’s way out. She used the excuse of a house party at one of her suitor’s homes. She waited until after they’d shared their passion.
He knew something was wrong. He knew because she clung to him, and she rode him like a woman possessed. And when he kissed her tenderly, she said the words as if they meant nothing to her. As if it were something she remembered at the last moment.
“I shall be leaving in the morning for the home of the Marquis de Mowles’s country estate.”
“Mowles? Is he that French refugee?”
“He’s eminently respectable. Or at least as respectable as I am, given that Eleanor’s lies have come back on us. Everyone knows I’m from Hull and not a mysterious Russian princess.”
In truth, she’d been the one to tell people. She’d gotten sick of all the lies and had confessed to a notorious gossip. She was from Hull and had never even seen the ocean, much less crossed it.
“When will you be back?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Never.” She took a deep breath. “I intend to marry him.”
“But—”
“He’s notoriously afraid for his safety. Keeps a guard near the doors at night. Another patrols the grounds.”
Translation:Bram won’t be able to come to her at night. They could never be together again unless he changed his mind now. Unless he wanted her as much as she desperately wanted him.
Unless…
“He’s a good choice,” Bram said softly. Then he grabbed the windowsill and swung himself out of her room—and her life—forever.
