for her to be broken. How happy he would be if he could see her now. He would merely say it was in her blood, that she had fulfilled her mother’s mad strain.
“There’s no need for forgiveness, my darling, and you must never ask for it again.” There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in Edward’s statement, just a sort of sadness deepening his tones. That factualness was far more comforting than all the soothing platitudes in the world.
Nothing to be forgiven. Yvonne had said it, too. But they couldn’t possibly mean it. She was a disgusting creature not meant for society. Her father had made sure of that.
How she wished hot tears would sting her eyes, but none would come. She stared up at Edward, unflinching. “You don’t deserve this.”
“You have no idea what I deserve.” His big hand clasped hers softly.
To her shock, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she savored the touch, stunned by how right it felt.
His lips pressed into a tight line before he drew in a long, careful breath. “I must ask . . . Did you—?” He looked away, clearly unable to go on as his face darkened with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
She shook her head slightly. What could shake this powerful man so? “Did I what?”
Another face came into view, one that had doubtless been in the room the whole time but had stayed hidden. He was an older man whose white hair shone silver in the candlelight. Heavy lines had turned his face into a beaten yet kind map of emotion. “I’m Dr. Carrington, my dear, and . . . what the duke wishes to ask is, did you mean to destroy yourself?”
Stunned, she looked from the doctor to Edward. They think . . . She opened her mouth to shout a torrent of fierce and offended denial. Before she could, she thought of the laudanum she had taken, and the wine . . . Of course they thought the worst. What else would one think?
She pulled her hand from Edward’s and looked toward the damask-curtained windows. “No. I would never give up the only thing that is mine.”
Edward let out an audible breath. Of relief? She turned back to face him. His eyes had lost their haunted look and whatever demon had been holding him these last minutes seemed to let go.
“That is what I had concluded,” Dr. Carrington said. “The laudanum you drank was well over three quarters opium. Who gave it to you?”
Mary closed her eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over her. “It doesn’t matter.” She doubted she could keep talking about this. Or anything for that matter. She felt so ill.
“It matters,” Edward gritted out. “You almost died. And someone else could die if they take something of its like.”
Humiliation claimed her, a thick weight on her already worn heart. He was going to think so little of her—not that he already thought much. But she wasn’t sure she could bear to see disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t know why, but it was important that he not see her how she truly was.
No, she did know why.
For one brief, illusive time, he’d seen her as more than a wounded animal who needed saving. He’d seen her as a beautiful creature. A fascinating woman to keep. Now he would cast her out like the sick, used-up woman that she was. Carefully, she pressed her hands into the silken-smooth sheets and shoved herself into a sitting position. She swallowed back the rising sickness at her throat. “I think I should go.”
Edward leaned toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have nothing you could desire.” Her own surety was surprising, given how paper-thin she felt. “I have neither mind, nor strength, nor a body that could make me of use to anyone, let alone you.”
She could feel his eyes burning her, intense yet cold with calculation, the kind of calculation that only the most intelligent and hard humans could produce.
“Dr. Carrington,” Edward clipped. “Leave us.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Footsteps shuffled quickly out of the room, then disappeared as the door shut
“There’s no need for forgiveness, my darling, and you must never ask for it again.” There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in Edward’s statement, just a sort of sadness deepening his tones. That factualness was far more comforting than all the soothing platitudes in the world.
Nothing to be forgiven. Yvonne had said it, too. But they couldn’t possibly mean it. She was a disgusting creature not meant for society. Her father had made sure of that.
How she wished hot tears would sting her eyes, but none would come. She stared up at Edward, unflinching. “You don’t deserve this.”
“You have no idea what I deserve.” His big hand clasped hers softly.
To her shock, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she savored the touch, stunned by how right it felt.
His lips pressed into a tight line before he drew in a long, careful breath. “I must ask . . . Did you—?” He looked away, clearly unable to go on as his face darkened with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
She shook her head slightly. What could shake this powerful man so? “Did I what?”
Another face came into view, one that had doubtless been in the room the whole time but had stayed hidden. He was an older man whose white hair shone silver in the candlelight. Heavy lines had turned his face into a beaten yet kind map of emotion. “I’m Dr. Carrington, my dear, and . . . what the duke wishes to ask is, did you mean to destroy yourself?”
Stunned, she looked from the doctor to Edward. They think . . . She opened her mouth to shout a torrent of fierce and offended denial. Before she could, she thought of the laudanum she had taken, and the wine . . . Of course they thought the worst. What else would one think?
She pulled her hand from Edward’s and looked toward the damask-curtained windows. “No. I would never give up the only thing that is mine.”
Edward let out an audible breath. Of relief? She turned back to face him. His eyes had lost their haunted look and whatever demon had been holding him these last minutes seemed to let go.
“That is what I had concluded,” Dr. Carrington said. “The laudanum you drank was well over three quarters opium. Who gave it to you?”
Mary closed her eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over her. “It doesn’t matter.” She doubted she could keep talking about this. Or anything for that matter. She felt so ill.
“It matters,” Edward gritted out. “You almost died. And someone else could die if they take something of its like.”
Humiliation claimed her, a thick weight on her already worn heart. He was going to think so little of her—not that he already thought much. But she wasn’t sure she could bear to see disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t know why, but it was important that he not see her how she truly was.
No, she did know why.
For one brief, illusive time, he’d seen her as more than a wounded animal who needed saving. He’d seen her as a beautiful creature. A fascinating woman to keep. Now he would cast her out like the sick, used-up woman that she was. Carefully, she pressed her hands into the silken-smooth sheets and shoved herself into a sitting position. She swallowed back the rising sickness at her throat. “I think I should go.”
Edward leaned toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have nothing you could desire.” Her own surety was surprising, given how paper-thin she felt. “I have neither mind, nor strength, nor a body that could make me of use to anyone, let alone you.”
She could feel his eyes burning her, intense yet cold with calculation, the kind of calculation that only the most intelligent and hard humans could produce.
“Dr. Carrington,” Edward clipped. “Leave us.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Footsteps shuffled quickly out of the room, then disappeared as the door shut
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