shall always remember it.’ Sophie clenched her fists. ‘I tried so hard. All I wanted to do was to show you that I was worthy of being a viscountess. Quite frankly, that doesn’t matter any more. I am who I am and I like me. I am through with tying myself in knots for anyone, most especially you!’
‘Have I ever asked you to?’
‘But you are ashamed of me. I read the letter …’
‘I meant to burn that after I wrote to my aunt, telling her a few home truths. But I have been so angry about it that every time I sit down to write, I can’t.’
He held out his arms as if he expected her to walk straight into them, lay her head against his chest and forgive him.
Sophie put her hand to her head. ‘It doesn’t change a thing.’
‘Sophie!’
She forced herself to turn her back and walk to where she had placed her valise. She’d packed it this afternoon in readiness for the wedding trip, a trip which was not going to happen now. A huge lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and, when she felt in control of her emotions, turned to face him.
‘The only thing you wanted to share was sex, Richard. I refuse to have a marriage based on that. Desire always fades without something real and solid behind it. You are right. I was in a dream of love. I have woken up and discovered that I am worth it. It is why I am leaving now. I am going to spend my life living it as it was meant to be lived, rather than existing and hoping for a few crumbs of praise from you.’
‘I forbid it.’
Sophie kept her back ramrod straight. The old Sophie would have crumbled, but Richard had given her her self-respect back. She knew now what she wanted and why she wasn’t going to settle for this second-best marriage. ‘You can forbid nothing, Richard. Not any more.’
‘Where are you going?’ he asked in a ragged voice.
‘Where I am safe,’ Sophie answered, knowing he’d never guess what she planned on doing or where she was going. She would start living her life on her terms now. ‘Where no one cares what my reputation is or what title I have, but what they do care about is me.’
Richard stood in stunned silence. Sophie couldn’t really be about to leave him. Not Sophie, not when he needed to forget about today. He wanted to hold her as she lay sleeping and look into her face. But mostly he wanted her there, beside him, talking to him about little ordinary things and worrying about little details that most people never even noticed. She was his refuge from the storm which had engulfed him. He needed her.
‘Don’t go,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with me, please. I … I care about you. I need you.’
The sound of the quietly clicked door echoed through the now-empty rooms. He wandered through the rooms aimlessly, leaving the bedroom until the last. It was as if all the light and joy had been sucked out of them.
Beside the bed, he sank down to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Tears flowed down his face. Sophie had gone. She had walked out of his life. And she would not be back.
His gut ached as if it had been torn out and roughly stuffed back in. A great black emptiness filled him. Sophie had abandoned him.
This black emptiness was far worse than when, as a boy of seven, his mother had left him with Hannah in a small glade while she ran away with her lover. When the light had faded and it was clear that no one was coming for them, he had carried the crying toddler back to Hallington and told her that he would look after her. He found his father in the study, drinking. His father had engulfed him and Hannah in a big bear hug, and told him that they would be a family together.
However, one day a few months later, he had returned from a ride to find the nursery empty. He’d gone again to the study and asked his father where his sister was and had his ears boxed for his trouble. He was never to mention his sister or mother again, his father declared, going into the first of his fearsome rages. Richard had gone back to his room and cried himself to sleep. It was the last time he had wept.
Two weeks later, he was on his way to Eton and his father had always had an excuse as to why he couldn’t be there. Richard had pretended at first he didn’t care and in the end he hadn’t cared. He wanted to think it would be the same with Sophie, but he knew that was a lie. He’d always care. He’d always want to know where Sophie was and that she was happy. Sophie was as necessary as breathing to him.
Richard looked up at the bed and grabbed a pillow. Her faint scent of lavender and citrus clung to it but it made the ache worse and he put it from him.
‘Sophie!’
The word echoed around the chamber, mocking him.
Would she have gone so quickly if she cared for him? He’d been right to keep from confessing how much he needed her in his life and how much his happiness and well being depended on her. She didn’t care about him, not truly.
He started to get up, but an abandoned book under the bed caught his eye. He reached out and brought Sophie’s sketchpad out.
He flipped through it. Page after page was filled with sketches of him. The first ones were hesitant and obviously done from memory early in their relationship. Later in the book, she must have drawn him while he slept. His favourite was him asleep with his face turned towards her. She had sketched his back and the way the coverlet had slipped to his waist.
Each line of the drawing screamed how much she cared about him. A tiny light flickered in the black emptiness deep within him and he knew the truth he’d been avoiding. She cared for him, deeply and passionately, and he’d refused to see it before, preferring to think that she was in love with new sensations because it meant he did not have to face his own feelings for her. He didn’t want to give her the power to hurt him and in doing so, he had hurt her—deeply and irrevocably.
Richard closed his eyes, knowing he had killed whatever glimmer of love she had for him. He should have trusted her with his family, with his whole being, because she was his life. He was the one who had wronged her, dreadfully wronged her. There had been no marriage to leave, because he had not been prepared to give of himself.
He tore the drawing from the book, carefully folded it and put it in his pocket. It was a slim hope.
‘I will get you back, Sophie, and I will spend my life showing you my finer feelings. I will show you that I know where you are going. I will always be there for you if you want me. And I do want you to stand beside me. If you need me to say words, I will, but I am scared.’
He put his hands to his eyes. Where had she gone? She had accused him of not knowing her and not caring. He had to prove that he did know her, far better than she thought.
He would find her without anyone else’s help but he had to do it quickly.
‘I want to see Lady Bingfield, Mrs Montemorcy,’ Richard said, keeping his voice steady as he stood on the doorstep of the imposing country house in Corbridge that afternoon. ‘Please tell her I am here.’
It had taken him several hours and a painful interview with his father, where he’d been accused
