‘No!’ This time the shake of her head splayed dark tresses around her shoulders. ‘I’ve changed, Thierry. Once upon a time I’d have been willing to put up with second best, with not quite achieving the dream. Once I didn’t dare to dream because I was too busy being cautious. But thinking I was dying gave me courage.’ She paused, a wistful smile curving her lips.
‘So did you, Thierry. You helped me to be brave. You encouraged me to follow my dreams.’ She hefted a breath that lifted her lovely breasts. ‘My dream is to love and be loved. As simple and as huge as that.’
She rubbed her hands up her arms as if cold. Did she too feel the draught of icy air coursing around him?
‘I understand you’ll never love me, Thierry. You explained you don’t believe in romance. Plus, I’m not the woman for you. I’m not blonde or sophisticated.’ She shrugged. ‘The woman you met in Paris wore borrowed plumage, just like tonight, and pretended to fit in, though she knew she was an outsider. I don’t belong in your world, so it’s better I go.’
‘To find a man to love?’ The words grated from his throat, leaving it raw.
Her face twisted with what looked like anguish. Except he was the one being torn apart.
‘If I can.’
He stalked forward, grabbing her hands. They were cold. He looked down at her small, capable fingers in his and knew he couldn’t bear to release her. It was asking too much.
‘No.’ His voice was a scrape of sound.
‘Sorry?’
‘You can’t do that.’
Thierry watched his thumbs trace a possessive path across her knuckles. He imagined their hands together in twenty years, forty years, veined and wrinkled. The image made him feel...right inside. The idea of Imogen giving herself to another man, growing old with him instead, turned Thierry’s stomach.
‘You can’t do it to me.’
‘To you?’
Thierry met her questioning eyes. Instantly heat, recognition and emotion slammed into him. All those feelings that had been growing since the night he’d looked across a crowd in Paris and seen Imogen.
At first he’d thought it simple attraction, sexual desire with a dollop of curiosity and vicarious pleasure in watching her wide-eyed excitement at so many new experiences. But his feelings went way beyond that. They had almost from the first.
She tugged to free herself and his grip tightened.
‘Let me go, Thierry.’ Desperation laced her words. It gave him hope when moments ago there’d been none. There must be a reason she sounded as desperate as he felt.
‘I can’t.’ It was the simple truth. How had she put it? Simple and huge. The truth was so huge it felt like he’d swallowed the sun.
Thierry met his wife’s eyes, willing her to believe, to understand, to share what he felt. ‘I can’t, Imogen, because I love you.’
* * *
Thierry’s hands on hers kept her standing as the room whirled. His arm came around her, strong and sure. Yet it was the look in his eyes that held her immobile. A look she’d never seen.
How was that for wishful thinking?
‘Don’t lie, Thierry.’ She choked on the words.
He held her gaze, and she could almost believe she read desperation there. Enough to feign love now he realised it was what she wanted?
‘I don’t lie, Imogen.’ He spoke gravely.
How badly she wanted this to be true! Enough to half-believe him, though it defied logic. ‘I can’t take any more, Thierry. Not tonight.’
‘This can’t wait.’ Before she knew it she was high in his arms, cradled against his chest. She tried to be strong, but found her cheek nestling against him. His unique scent filled her. If this was the last time he held her she was determined to commit every detail to memory.
He moved, and her heart hammered, but he wasn’t carrying her to bed. She was grateful. He’d be hard to resist if he tried to seduce her. Surely it was relief, not disappointment, she felt when he settled on the window seat, cradling her?
‘I love you, Imogen.’ The words vibrated through his body into hers. They wafted warm air in her hair.
‘Thierry. Please.’ She swallowed pain. ‘Don’t pretend. I won’t stop you seeing our baby. You’ll still have access.’
‘This isn’t about the baby. It’s about us.’
Imogen turned her face into his chest, absurdly seeking comfort from the very man she shouldn’t. ‘It’s not about us. This is pride speaking. You just don’t want to let go.’ Not after he’d shown his bride to his friends and all those society people.