In the flickering candlelight, he saw that her control wasn’t as complete as she wanted him to think. The hand she extended to the latch shook as if she had a fever.
“Coward,” he said softly but quite clearly behind her.
For a moment, he thought she hadn’t heard.
Then she bent her head, revealing the vulnerable nape under the thickly piled hair. His throat closed with grief as he waited for her to push the door open and leave.
This was a last desperate gamble to keep her. He held no expectations he’d succeed.
“What did you call me?” she asked unsteadily.
He leaned back and braced himself on the desktop with his hands. “I called you a coward,” he said relentlessly. “My God, you were braver at fifteen.”
“At fifteen, I had no choice,” she choked out, still without facing him.
“Yes, you did. There’s always a choice. And from that choice, you had the courage and the cleverness to create something marvelous. From chapel-going rustic to Europe’s most famous courtesan? I’m awestruck.”
Her elegant shoulders tensed under his attack, but mercifully, she didn’t flee.
“I told you why I do this. It’s for your sake,” she said in a low voice.
“Rubbish. You’re doing this because you’re afraid.” His tone lost some of its harshness. “Do you love me, Verity?”
She whirled around at the question. If he hadn’t been fighting for his very life, he’d have relented then. Untold suffering was etched deep on her lovely face.
“That’s not fair,” she protested in a trembling voice.
No, it wasn’t fair. But if he had to, he’d play dirty to win his prize. He’d do anything if it meant she stayed.
In truth, when he looked into her eyes, he already had the answer to his question.
But he continued remorselessly. “You’ve given me so much—your body, your trust, your comfort, your absolution, so many of your secrets. Yet that’s something you’ve never said.”
Arms outstretched against the inlaid marquetry, she pressed back into the door. In her flowing pink dress, she looked like a trapped butterfly. He stifled another wave of compassion.
“You’ve never said you love me either,” she challenged.
He shrugged.
“I love you,” he said.
It emerged with a naturalness even he hadn’t expected.
For a moment, her gray eyes blazed with light as they rested on him. Had so simple—and so momentous—an act as confessing his love finally won this battle for him?
But of course, it wasn’t that straightforward.
She shook her head and glanced away. “Love isn’t enough.”
“It’s a damned lot. Do you love me, Verity?”
She made a helpless gesture that tore at his heart, but he reminded himself he must be pitiless. For both their sakes.
“You must know I do,” she admitted sadly.
Until a moment ago, he’d never been sure.
She loves me, she loves me, his heart chanted in a paean of elation. Surely now he couldn’t lose h