Chapter 29

29

She jerked upright in the bed and stared at him. Leo was suddenly possessed by a sickening conviction that he was making a terrible mistake, but it was far too late to turn back now. ‘I love you,' he repeated. ‘If I could believe that you had feelings for me in turn, I would be the happiest man alive.'

‘You don't love me. You don't.'

‘I'm afraid I do. Desperately.'

‘You don't. You're in love with your cousin's wife, with Cassandra.' It was a good name to hiss, and she hissed it with a great deal of force. ‘You told me so yourself.'

‘I lied.' She was looking at him in what appeared to be horror, her long hair wild and dishevelled about her naked shoulders. ‘I lied because I already knew I loved you then, all those weeks, those months ago. I thought you'd wonder why I agreed to your scheme, once you came to reflect upon it. I felt… exposed. And so I lied to you.'

‘You tricked me.' She seemed to be close to tears.

‘I am sorry if I did. I can only say it didn't seem so to me. I felt as though I had no choice.'

‘I'd never have started… this, if I had thought you cared for me.'

‘I know you wouldn't. You'd have found somebody else, that popinjay… I couldn't bear it. I couldn't. It wasn't just that I didn't want anyone else laying so much as a finger on you – though of course I didn't – it was also my fear that some other man would use you, hurt you, let you down. I couldn't let that happen.'

Her face was shuttered, closed to him. ‘You entered into this under false pretences. That's tricking me.'

‘I suppose it is.' His voice was cracking and he didn't care. ‘I won't apologise for loving you, though. Worshipping you. I can never regret that if I live to be a hundred. And tonight, when it seemed to me that you were jealous, it gave me just a whisper of hope that you might care for me too, at least a little. Was I wrong?'

‘You have no right to ask me that question. It's not part of our agreement.'

‘I know I don't. I'm not asking you out of vanity, I assure you. It matters more to me than anything I've ever asked anyone in my life. And you haven't answered me.'

‘I don't love you,' she said. ‘I don't. I can't. I can't love you or anyone. I love Ash. My husband Ash. I told you that from the first. I never tried to deceive you into thinking that anything else was possible for me.' She was weeping now.

An ugly silence fell between them. ‘Then there's nothing more to be said.' He rose, and like an automaton, he climbed down from her bed, shoved his stiff arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown, and with clumsy fingers that did not feel like his own he fastened it and turned to leave her.

She said, tears still streaming down her face, ‘It's over, then.' He wasn't sure if this was a question. If it was, it was a cruel, unnecessary one.

‘I think that's best, don't you?'

He didn't wait for an answer. If she was expecting him to beg her to take him back into her bed, she would be disappointed. He knew he was capable of it, of begging; he knew that if she showed the slightest sign of wanting him to stay, he'd break and fall at her feet and implore her to give him another chance, to forget all he'd said and carry on for as long as she cared to. The power she had over him was not something that could so easily be shaken off. But he had just a little pride, enough to get him out of this room and back to his own, if she didn't say another word.

She didn't.