that if I tried, he wouldn't hit me." More tears ran down her cheeks, and he reached to brush them away, feeling a stab of hurt when she pulled back to avoid his hand. "It never worked, and—though I might try again—it never will. Other women speak of a mindless joy, a special bonding. I won't deprive you of that, not even to secure my own happiness. I'm not that selfish. You deserve better."
He knew she was wrong—she was warm, not cold, and, with patience, the right man could overcome the emotional scars of mistreatment.
She was wrong.
But what if he were wrong, instead? What if she knew of what she spoke?
Could he live with that?
She rose to her knees, reaching for the goblet that had rolled away, tossing everything back in the basket. "I want you to leave, Cameron."
"What?" Would she cut out his heart?
"I want you to leave." She shoved the basket into his hands, then tossed the blanket over it. "Now. Just leave me alone, like you should have in the first place."
He stared at her for a long moment, until she scrambled to her feet and turned her back.
He slowly stood.
"I love you," he said.
Her shoulders remained stiff, unyielding. The words vibrated across the chasm that stretched between them.
A chasm it seemed he couldn't leap. But he would find a way.
CHAPTER NINE
For the first time in close to a week, Clarice felt she'd done a full day's work. She'd made more strawberry tarts and delivered them to Gisela at the cookshop. Her fingers were stained red from picking berries for tomorrow's batch. She'd finished one crewelwork throw and started another, both of which would bring a tidy sum. The house was swept, the linens washed.
Her heart was empty.
She'd known all along that Cameron wouldn't choose to marry a cold woman. She'd been foolish to allow herself to get close. But though she'd said from the start that she and Mary were better off on their own—and truly meant it as well—the thought of never seeing him again left her feeling like there was a gaping hole in her middle.
Yet surely she would get over that. It was all for the better. She was terrified at what the marriage bed would bring, and having escaped that once, she'd be foolish to go back. She might have lived a fairytale for a week, but she wasn't meant to live in a castle forever.
She was setting supper on the table when the rattle of carriage wheels began parading down her street. One after the other, the local gentry were making their way to the castle for the marquess's wedding celebration ball.
Mary ran to fling open the door. "Look, Mama! Oh, look at the beautiful coaches! Look, that one has four white horses! And I can see inside. That lady's hair has jewels stuck in it!"
"How lovely," Clarice answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster—which wasn't much. Though she'd never expected to attend the ball—unlike her daughter, never even dreamed of such a thing—that didn't mean she wanted to ogle the guests. She'd prefer to block the entire event from her mind. Just knowing Cameron was there, probably already dancing the new dances, made her heart ache anew.
"Eleven carriages so far, Mama."
"Is that so?" Clarice struggled to pull herself together. "How many if three more arrive?" she forced herself to ask, playing their old game. "How many then?"
Mary's golden head tilted, but she stayed facing away, her gaze glued to the proceedings outdoors. "Fourteen," she finally announced, pride in her small voice. "Fourteen, is that right? And here come three more now."
She yawned, covering her mouth with one small hand; Clarice had kept her busy all the day long, running, fetching, and helping wherever a girl her size could help. Then suddenly she stilled, and her voice sounded puzzled. "Here comes one from the other direction, Mama. Do you s'pose the party is full?"
"I think not."
"But the carriage is stopping, Mama. It's not turning around. The party must be too full."
Despite her melancholy, Clarice found herself
He knew she was wrong—she was warm, not cold, and, with patience, the right man could overcome the emotional scars of mistreatment.
She was wrong.
But what if he were wrong, instead? What if she knew of what she spoke?
Could he live with that?
She rose to her knees, reaching for the goblet that had rolled away, tossing everything back in the basket. "I want you to leave, Cameron."
"What?" Would she cut out his heart?
"I want you to leave." She shoved the basket into his hands, then tossed the blanket over it. "Now. Just leave me alone, like you should have in the first place."
He stared at her for a long moment, until she scrambled to her feet and turned her back.
He slowly stood.
"I love you," he said.
Her shoulders remained stiff, unyielding. The words vibrated across the chasm that stretched between them.
A chasm it seemed he couldn't leap. But he would find a way.
CHAPTER NINE
For the first time in close to a week, Clarice felt she'd done a full day's work. She'd made more strawberry tarts and delivered them to Gisela at the cookshop. Her fingers were stained red from picking berries for tomorrow's batch. She'd finished one crewelwork throw and started another, both of which would bring a tidy sum. The house was swept, the linens washed.
Her heart was empty.
She'd known all along that Cameron wouldn't choose to marry a cold woman. She'd been foolish to allow herself to get close. But though she'd said from the start that she and Mary were better off on their own—and truly meant it as well—the thought of never seeing him again left her feeling like there was a gaping hole in her middle.
Yet surely she would get over that. It was all for the better. She was terrified at what the marriage bed would bring, and having escaped that once, she'd be foolish to go back. She might have lived a fairytale for a week, but she wasn't meant to live in a castle forever.
She was setting supper on the table when the rattle of carriage wheels began parading down her street. One after the other, the local gentry were making their way to the castle for the marquess's wedding celebration ball.
Mary ran to fling open the door. "Look, Mama! Oh, look at the beautiful coaches! Look, that one has four white horses! And I can see inside. That lady's hair has jewels stuck in it!"
"How lovely," Clarice answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster—which wasn't much. Though she'd never expected to attend the ball—unlike her daughter, never even dreamed of such a thing—that didn't mean she wanted to ogle the guests. She'd prefer to block the entire event from her mind. Just knowing Cameron was there, probably already dancing the new dances, made her heart ache anew.
"Eleven carriages so far, Mama."
"Is that so?" Clarice struggled to pull herself together. "How many if three more arrive?" she forced herself to ask, playing their old game. "How many then?"
Mary's golden head tilted, but she stayed facing away, her gaze glued to the proceedings outdoors. "Fourteen," she finally announced, pride in her small voice. "Fourteen, is that right? And here come three more now."
She yawned, covering her mouth with one small hand; Clarice had kept her busy all the day long, running, fetching, and helping wherever a girl her size could help. Then suddenly she stilled, and her voice sounded puzzled. "Here comes one from the other direction, Mama. Do you s'pose the party is full?"
"I think not."
"But the carriage is stopping, Mama. It's not turning around. The party must be too full."
Despite her melancholy, Clarice found herself
Similar Books
