Page 82 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Of the physical and emotional distance you will place between us. And I tell you here and now, Gabriel, that it will mean a one hundred percent chance of you breaking my heart.”
He reared back, physically taking a step away from her. “I—” He stopped and walked away to the other side of the room.
“It’s hard for me to measure,” she said, unrelenting. “What is worse? The chance of a quick end or the certainty of a lifetime of yearning?”
Arguments and denials tumbled in his head. “We spoke of this before. We had an agreement—”
“Yes. We did.” She straightened her shoulders and faced him. “But I do not believe that you, in good conscience, can expect me to hold to that agreement.”
“Of course I can,” he retorted, indignant. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you were not honest with me. It was entered into under false circumstances.”
“In what way was it false?”
She held up a finger. “First, you agreed we would live together.” She broke off his attempt to protest. “Yes, I know. Separate, but together, under one roof. Yet here you are trying to remove me.”
She ticked off a second finger. “Secondly, you allowed me to believe that your separate life would be one that I might expect of any gentleman. I imagined clubs, estate business, friends, social events. Perhaps racing, gambling or a mistress, at the worst. There was no mention of filthy houses, villainous stewards, smuggling, jewels or murder.”
“I didn’t—”
He stopped when she moved in close. The scent of her drifted on the air, the same ever-shrinking expanse of charged air that moved between them. His nostrils flared and he fixed his attention on the pale, slender column of her neck and down to her bosom, where her breasts swelled over the embroidered edge of her bodice.
She didn’t object. Instead, she moved closer still. He raised his gaze to her expression, which for once mixed a bit of bashfulness in with her usual determination.
“Also,” she said huskily. “I believe you agreed that we would address the matter of . . . heirs.”
Hell and damnation.
“I want to renegotiate our agreement,” she declared.
He should be annoyed. Instead, he was only hotly, tortuously aroused. “I’m fine with the way it stands.” Damn, but it was his cock that was standing, swift and full and urging him to get on with it and give his wife what she wanted.
“I’m not,” she countered. “Just as I worried would happen, I want more. I think you want more, too.”
He couldn’t even deny it.
“I can read the signs you don’t know you are showing, remember? I know you do.” Her tone softened. “And I know you don’t want to want it.”
He flushed, stuck without a reply. How could he tell her she was right, without insulting her?
“I think if you only clarify a few things, you’ll feel better about it.” Stepping in, she reached up and tapped his temple. “Understand here.” She moved her hand down to let it rest on his chest, over his heart. “And here. Know that it ismeyou would choose to trust. Charlotte. Your wife.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Gabriel, your mother wasted her chance and never let herself really know you. Your father selfishly demanded perfection without offering even the slightest bit of love or support in exchange. Neither of those things were caused by you.”
He shook his head.
“Look at it this way. Your brother’s betrothed gave in to fear and grief and pride instead of listening to the love in her heart. Do you blame William for her betrayal?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you cannot blame yourself for the shortcomings in your family. You cannot blame me for them, or expect me to act in the same manner, either. I am not them. Don’t punish me, or yourself, for their sins.”
It shouldn’t be possible for a man to feel so many things simultaneously. He wasn’t sure he was going to survive it without exploding like a stuck steam valve. His spine stiffened in defensive denial. He felt mortified, but also incredibly touched.
Because she was right. He should absolutely judge her for herself alone. She was the one wholooked. Who peered past his shenanigans and saw all the odd, empty places inside of him. And instead of condemning him for them, she promptly set about filling them up. With good food and heartfelt gifts and small, trusting glimpses into her own unique vision of the world. She fussed over him and took care of him and just . . . gave a good tinker’s damn about him, in a way that no other woman ever had.
Who could he trust, if not her?
Her hand still rested on his chest. Picking it up, he kissed her fingers, the soft skin on the back, the tender spot inside of her wrist. He raised it to rest on his shoulder, gathered her close and kissed her.
