Page 9

She arched a brow. “And now?”

When he was younger, he hadn't considered anything beyond his own ambitions. Had he wanted her? Undoubtedly. But not enough to set aside what he thought he needed to ask her anything of importance. “Now I think I ought to have asked what you wanted years ago.”

She looked at him fully, her green eyes wide and searching. The admission had been easier to rehearse than to say to her. He had made it beside his study fire, in a carriage, once while shaving. In every imagined conversation, the words had brought relief, a loosening in his chest. Here, with her gaze fixed on his face, they seemed rather inadequate. Heat crept up his neck. “I had found a way to earn enough to marry,” he continued, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “I was so pleased with myself that I scarcely considered you might have something to say about it.”

“I did have something to say,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” He nodded. “You were quite clear.”

She held his gaze. She didn’t flinch once as she said, “And you went anyway.”

He closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath, then admitted, “I did.”

Charlotte studied him for a moment, and the silence stretched, thin and taut. He resisted the temptation to explain further, to pour out the justifications he had polished over the years. She knew about the property, the income, his determination to establish himself without forever appealing to his brother. He had given her those reasons until there was hardly room left in her head for anything else. He had failed to listen.

“I do not blame you for wishing to improve your circumstances,” she said at last in a measured tone. He heard the thread of old hurt beneath it. “But you had already made your plans, including what you expected of me when you returned.”

“I thought having a plan would comfort you,” he said.

“You appeared to require very little reassurance yourself.” That quiet accuracy deserved more than a rueful smile. It landed somewhere beneath his ribs, a clean, deserved ache. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was twenty-three,” he said. “I believed wanting something very much gave me the right to arrange it.”

Her mouth moved slightly, the ghost of a smile flickering and gone. “That sounds like you.”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Unfortunately.”

She lowered her eyes to her hands. She moved her thumb over the place where a wedding ring might have rested. The small, unconscious gesture caught at him. He had known she was widowed before he came to London. He had wondered whether to call upon her. Then spent an unreasonable amount of time inventing reasons she would find the visit unwelcome. He had paced his study until the candle guttered. Seeing her tonight had ended that comfortable indecision. He wanted to know her again, and pretending otherwise served little purpose.

“Did you expect me to wait?” she asked, looking up.

He considered the question more carefully than he had years ago, turning it over and letting the silence settle. “I hoped you would change your mind.”

“That is not quite the same thing,” she said gently.

“No,” he agreed. “You had made me no promise. I knew that.”

“And when you learned I had married?” she asked.

He admitted the truth, “It hurt.”

Her eyes rose to his, startled and a little wary. He had no intention of making her answer for that hurt. He had chosen to leave. She had chosen to marry. Whatever foolish bargains he had made with himself aboard the ship as he stared at a gray, empty horizon. He knew that Charlotte had agreed to none of them.

“But I had no right to be angry with you,” he added, steadily.

“Were you?” she asked.

He nodded. “For a little while.” He hated her briefly, too. Because he couldn't believe she cared so little for him. He had thought she would wait because they cared for each other. No, that wasn’t true either. It was a much stronger emotion. At least on his part.

“How honest,” she said, and the corner of her mouth quirked.

“You would see through anything else.”

“Yes,” she said. “I probably would.”

He smiled then, and after a moment her expression softened. It was a small concession. Her shoulders loosened, and a flicker of warmth appeared in her gaze. He felt absurdly grateful, so grateful his throat tightened. Charlotte turned toward the sofa and sat, settling her skirts with a brief hand movement and smoothing the silk over her knees. Alexander waited until she glanced at the chair opposite before taking it. He lowered himself with care, as though any sudden movement might startle her away.

“I heard that you married,” she said.