Chapter 15

Fifteen

Rose

"I am engaged."

Time slowed to a crawl. Unseeing, I blinked several times into the bright sun shimmering off the ocean. I must've misheard. This had to be a mistake. Or, was I still asleep and caught in a terrible nightmare?

I spoke carefully, enunciating every word as if I were on stage. "You are engaged? "

Moore grimaced, unhappiness etched in every tiny line surrounding his mouth. He squeezed my hip as if to reassure me. "As I said, it's naught but a nuisance. Nothing for you to worry about, really."

"You are getting married."

"Yes. In September."

"Married," I repeated, numbly.

"The engagement party is a week from Saturday."

His voice was so calm, so cool. Like he was telling me what was on the evening's menu. Yet the words tore me up inside, razor-sharp slashes of pain I hadn't expected. I eased to a sitting position, making sure we were no longer touching. I couldn't think what to say, so I asked, "And who is the lucky woman?"

"Miss Gladys Claypoole Whitney-Dunn."

"Goodness. So many names." Hadn't I made the same remark upon meeting Moore? Short names were far too common for the families in Moore's world. Otherwise, how does one brag about one's lineage?

I shook myself. Why on earth was I focused on names when Moore was remarrying ?

I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. Why hadn't he told me he was searching for a bride when the topic came up earlier this week?

I will never lie to you.

Such was his promise when attempting to bed me, words that meant nothing, obviously. Ever since we met, he made it clear that he'd never remarry. A lie, and now I had slept with another woman's fiancé.

Carefully, I slid out of bed and found my dressing gown on the settee. I was too brittle, too raw to conduct this conversation in the nude. When I was covered I turned and faced him. "We discussed this only the other night and you expressed your resolve to never remarry. What changed your mind?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Indeed, it does."

He drew himself to a sitting position and rested against the headboard. He rubbed his jaw for several seconds, like he was debating his answer. "It was the lesser of many evils," he said cryptically.

I struggled to breathe, my heart thumping in my ears. Clearly, Moore intended to withhold his reasoning. And why would a powerful, rich man like Moore confide in me? He hadn't bothered to inform me of his search, so why tell me the reason behind the change of heart? I was merely the woman he paid for his convenience, the available doxy.

You are his mistress, not his wife. Not even his friend.

I was a fool.

My heart, the useless organ, cracked and shattered inside my chest. This was precisely why I'd never wished to become a mistress in the first place. His words last night meant nothing. I wasn't important to him, nor had he developed feelings for me. Only I had been so senseless, so careless as to fall in love.

But one thing was for certain: Moore would never know of my true feelings for him. He would never learn how much he'd hurt me in this moment.

The ability to bury my personal pain had served me well and allowed me to become an actress—a damn good one, too. Rose O'Donahue knew how to put on a performance.

My stomach roiled with misery, but I took a deep breath. I could do this. I could pretend and keep my head on straight. And I would survive losing him. I'd survived far worse in my short life. I would not break, not over this.

No man would break me.

I wiped my expression clean. "And when is the joyous event?"

"The twenty-second of September."

I gave him a wide smile. "My congratulations to you both. She's a lucky woman."

His eyes examined me carefully. "You're certainly taking this well. I feel as though I'm more rattled by the whole business than anyone else."

Indeed, how awful for him. Gaining a wife to take care of his needs, as well as his home. Provide him with children and never complain. Yes, a man's lot in life was certainly a pity.

None of this was Moore's fault, however. I was the buffoon for thinking him mine, for allowing my heart to attach itself to him.

"And you needn't worry," he was saying, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. "I plan to move you farther uptown, closer to my new home."

"New home?"

He dragged a hand through his hair. "Probably somewhere around Ninety-Third or Ninety-Fourth Street. I still want you within walking distance."

I swayed as dismay shot through me like an electric charge. Did he honestly believe our arrangement would continue after his marriage?

My acting skills must've failed me, because Moore frowned as he watched me. "You don't care for the idea of living uptown?"

We stared at one another for a long beat, the tension pulled tight between us. Grief and frustration—and anger—gathered in my chest like a storm cloud. I angled away from him and stared at the opulent cabin around me, the gold fixtures and the priceless paintings. The mahogany panels, the stained glass.

I don't belong here.

I clutched the lapels of the dressing gown around my naked flesh. Cold seeped under my skin, down to my bones, but I needed to remain strong. "Moore, this won't continue after you've married."

His eyebrows flew up. "You and me, you are saying."

"Yes."

Still naked, he folded his arms across his chest. "Why the hell not?"

Because I would die inside, a little bit at a time. Day by day, week by week, until there was nothing left.

Squarely, I met his gaze and let him see the truth of what needed to be said. "I cannot remain your mistress after you marry. It goes against all my principles—and yours . Remember the gossip after the trial? The names they called you?"

"No man in my world honors his marriage vows. That isn't how it's done, Rose."

"Are you attempting to convince yourself or me?"

The skin of his throat turned a dull red as his mouth flattened. "It doesn't matter because I won't give you up."

Oh, so this was his decision alone? The absolute nerve of him. "I'll not come between a wife and her husband. Miss Whitney-Dunn deserves better."

"You don't even know her."

"That isn't the point!" God willing, I would never meet or see Moore's fiancée. "I won't help you dishonor your vows. You hated what happened last time and you hadn't even strayed. Imagine how awful it will be this time when it's true ."

"I don't give a good goddamn!" he all but shouted. "You are worth the gossip and whispers. They may call me whatever names they like. I won't give you up, Rose."

A fresh jolt of pain stole my breath. He actually expected me to stay, to share him with another woman. A wife, who carried his name and his children. Lived in his home and attended events with him. Slept with him.

Me? I wasn't worth marrying. I was the trollop he fucked—and I would never be anything else, to hell with my feelings.

I couldn't help but feel like Rose Doyle back in Youngstown, hoping for a man to love her enough to marry her. Longing for a partner who would stand before God and the world and claim her. Instead, I'd been used and cast aside, humiliated—and now it was happening all over again.

I was stronger now. And I wouldn't let anyone have power over me. I was Rose O'Donahue, for god's sake. A girl who'd left home with almost nothing and became a successful actress. I would never beg for crumbs of a man's attention. So I would enjoy Moore for the time we had left, then turn him over to the woman with too many names to remember.

Quietly, I said, "I cannot share you with a wife. I won't do it, Moore."

He stared out the window, giving me his handsome profile. I loved looking at him, noting the various expressions he wore, the hint of gray at his temples. But another woman would soon own that pleasure, and I needed to bear it somehow.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You are aware I don't love her, correct? This is an obligation, nothing more."

"Which is immaterial to our discussion. Carrying on after your marriage hurts everyone."

He began pacing, his tendons and muscles taut with anger. "This isn't a marriage I want. I'm being forced to marry her. Do you understand? This is not a joyous occasion."

"I doubt Miss Whitney-Dunn shares your perspective on the matter."

"Then you'd be wrong. When we spoke, she was less than thrilled at the prospect of marriage."

This didn't console me. In fact, it only confused me. "Why are you marrying her, then?"

"Because I have no choice!"

Moore, not have a choice? I didn't believe it. There was something he wasn't telling me.

I struggled for calm, determined to get answers. "You told me you would never marry again. Explain, then, how you are being forced to go back on your word."

He put his hands on his hips and stared out the porthole. "It doesn't matter. It's out of my hands."

"Then in whose hands does the decision rest? Because I cannot believe you are agreeing, considering your strong feelings on the subject matter."

"Rose . . ."

He let my name trail off, once again reluctant to confide in me. Gone was the man from last night who had been so forthright and open. This was another shift between us, secrets and decisions that were none of my concern. He had a future to think about, one that didn't include me.

Nausea swirled inside my belly and I knew I needed time alone. My stomach and head were a mess, not to mention my heart. I turned on my heel and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"On deck. I need some air."

"But it is cold out there and you're hardly dressed."

I didn't mind. I was frozen inside, anyway.

"Shall I come with you?" he asked as I pulled open the door.

"I'd prefer if you didn't. I'll be fine."

And I would be. Eventually.