“Indeed.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Sliced me straight through.”
His tone was light, but he was deadly serious. He’d felt as well as heard every one of her insults. She must have realized it, too, for she emerged, hesitatingly, from the shadows.
“I’m not the only one who was cruel that evening.” Her gaze reproached him. “Youthrust me away.Youcalled me reckless.”
Too well, he recalled the moment—and the one that followed…him, sitting in the dirt, bereft. “What I truly wanted to do was kiss you senseless.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t think you’d welcome such an assault.”
Her gaze remained skeptical. “Lust.”
“Not just, Millie.” He shook his headno. “Not just.”
“How can you know? Maybe you are only pursuing me now because I have been difficult.” Her brow furrowed. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You should find yourself someone who will adore you. I amnotthat woman. Let me suffer the results of my own actions, as you always predicted I would.”
He ran a hand over his face. “When I said you would come to a bad end, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did!” she interrupted.
“Very well, I did.” He sighed. “Then again, we have always been swords-drawn, every confrontation an escalation. Ididthink your actions would land you in a fix.”
“I hear the rest of that unspoken thought, ‘Well, they have.’” She scowled. “Pat yourself on the back and go away. Give up on this—this terrible plan to save me from myself.” She looked away. “Let me live my life in exile, instead.”
Ah.Her most painful insult yet. “Do you prefer exile to me?”
“Yes, I do,” she answered with resolve.
A deadly thrust, a piercingferita.
But therippingsensation he felt wasn’t swordlike at all. Instead, an invisible hand had reached inside his gut to stretch and shred his internal organs. Exile. Loneliness. Separation from the sisters she loved. Those things, she preferred to him.
He must do as she asked, he supposed. His name, his home, even his heart. If those things held no value to Millie, he couldn’t force her to take them.
He turned, fully intending to walk away.
Instead, he placed a palm against the doorway and bent forward, as if resisting the force of her will. Was she being honest? Was she right?
On one hand, her rejection of him made sense.
Theywereopposites. And he had, in fact, long hoped for a marriage very different than that of his parents. He’d thought that meant the peace and security of a conventional wife.
So why was the thought of being without Millie squeezing the air from his very lungs?
And why was the vision of himself, sitting across the long table from an appropriately petite, gently obliging wife making him nauseous? Such a wife would be cordial, respectful, polite.
Infuriating exchanges?Never.
Misunderstandings that left him gutted?Absurd, the very thought.
But such a marriage would contain none of Millie’s dry wit, either. Nor anything challenging or unexpected. Just a seamless integration with his well-ordered, carefully planned existence.Everything he had thought he preferred in life. Everything that had been his aim.
He glanced over his shoulder.
He didn’t want well-ordered.
He wanted Millicent Wainwright—inventive chaos, creative disruption, turbulence, resilience, and, ultimately, transformation. The essential ingredients, in fact, that brought life both texture and flavor. She was the lady he wanted with every fiber of his being.
And, because that desire for her was more than just lust, he would have to walk away.
Her image blurred—from unshed tears or deep fatigue, he didn’t know.