Page 63 of Secrets of the Heart

“So you thought it was better to be a liar, instead?”

“I did not lie to you!” He paused, then added fairly, “Well, not until the highwayman stopped you.”

“Oh, so you didn’t lie to me. You just neglected to tell me anything of importance about your life.”

“I—it never came up. We were rarely around one another. It was part of the life I lived at Westhampton. I—we were not close.”

“No. How could we be, when I did not know you at all?” Rachel shot back.

“You lived the life you wanted in London,” Michael retorted, old anger and resentment roughening his voice. “You did not care to be a part of my life.”

“Are you saying that your deception was my fault?”

“No, of course not. But, dammit! It isn’t as if we shared a life. It isn’t as if you were truly my wife or cared anything for me. And since we are speaking of deception, you are not entirely blameless, now, are you? You have been seeing Anthony Birkshaw! You swore to me that you would not, but you—”

“Twice! I saw him only twice! Just a week ago, when he came to me, begging me to let him talk to me, saying it was urgent. So I spoke with him. I did not turn him away. I listened to his problem and told him I would speak to you about it. And had you been here, I would have told you immediately. And then once more to find out more about his case. I did not try to hide anything from you. I have never tried to hide anything from you. I made one foolish mistake, and I have spent the last seven years trying to atone for it. But obviously you will never forgive me.”

“Forgive you? What do you mean? I forgave you long ago.’

“No. You tolerated me.” Rachel turned and walked back to the bed, beginning again to fill the bag with her garments. She felt suddenly weary to the bone, and so sad that she was afraid she would begin to weep.

Behind her, Michael groaned and said, “Oh, God! I’ve made a mess of everything.”

“We both have,” Rachel responded listlessly. “I—I am going to leave tomorrow morning. I am too tired tonight, after all.”

“Where will you go?” he asked in a voice as dead as hers.

“To Darkwater, I think. It is home, after all, and Miranda will need me before too much longer.”

“I see.”

“Please…if you don’t mind, I am rather tired. I would like to go to sleep now.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Rachel did not turn around as Michael walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Even as tired as she was, Rachel had trouble going to sleep, and once she finally did, she spent a restless night, waking often and lying in the dark staring up at the tester of her bed.

The next morning, when she awoke, the prospect of journeying to Darkwater filled her with little joy. Her life, she thought, would be as empty there as it was here. The impetus for her anger had dried up. She felt tired, bored and sad, and none of those conditions seemed as if they would improve with a long journey.

She put off ringing her maid to start packing her trunks and went downstairs to breakfast. Michael was there waiting for her, and only the presence of one of the footmen kept her from turning around and beating a hasty retreat.

“Good morning, Rachel,” Michael said levelly. He was as neatly and soberly dressed as ever, but the blue shadows beneath his eyes and the drawn quality of his face bespoke a night as unfulfilling as Rachel’s own.

“Michael.” Rachel sat down in her chair, and the footman poured her a cup of coffee.

“That will be all, Deavers,” Michael told the footman. “Lady Westhampton and I will serve ourselves.” He nodded toward the sideboard loaded with dishes.

The footman left and Rachel set down her cup. “I—I think I will go back up to my room. I am not very hungry, I find.”

“No, please, don’t go. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Rachel remained, her eyes fixed on her plate.

“I realize that you are very angry with me right now,” Michael went on. “And you have every right to be. I—I will not be so impertinent as to ask you to give me another chance. But I would point out to you that Mr. Birkshaw is relying on you.”

“What?” Rachel was so startled that she raised her eyes to Michael’s face. His statement was the last thing she would have expected him to say.