of the Venetian rug. “You are too good for the theater.”
He took her elbow and steered her to the divan.
Unsure of his motives, she slid away from him and perched against her dressing table instead.
“I have always dreamed of more,” she said, her voice sounding as tentative as she felt. Where was this leading?
He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped his jaw shut as though he was considering his next words carefully. His breath came out in a ragged sigh. She feared his next words would define their fate and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the outcome.
At last, he nodded as if he’d come to some decision, rubbed his hand across his mouth and resumed his pacing. “It’s good you want something other than the theater.”
The satisfaction that shone in his eyes was at odds with the tenseness in his movements. She’d never seen him quite so edgy. “William?”
“Let me provide for you properly,” he blurted while never missing a step. “In the style and comfort you deserve.”
His words staggered her and she found she had to clutch the side of her makeup table to steady herself. “Are you asking for my hand?” she asked, but she feared she already knew the answer.
He stopped pacing, turned to look at her with a frown marring his brow. “Marriage? You thought I came to offer marriage?”
His voice held genuine shock, as though the notion had never crossed his mind. She had to fight a wave of hysteria as she stared at him.
“You said you loved me,” she said at last, touching the hidden locket with her fingertip.
He rushed to her, knelt at her feet and clasped her hands in his again. “I do love you, Bella.” His breathing came in hard, shallow spurts. “It is why I offer my protection. It is the greatest gift I have to give.”
He was no longer the suave viscount, but a man too desperate to have his way to remember his rank. The thought brought her no comfort, no hope. Only anguish.
She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears. “You think that little of me, of us, that you would make me your mistress?”
He squeezed her hands gently. “Look at me,” he coaxed with his low, soothing baritone back in place.
She didn’t think she had the courage, yet she forced open her eyes. The sincerity in his returning gaze gave her hope.
She held her breath.
“You deserve better than marriage, my love. I would never relegate you to the role of wife. It’s nothing more than a gilded cage.”
She lowered her eyes and said nothing, knowing no response was necessary. Very carefully, very slowly, she pulled her hands from his and straightened. He stood, as well.
“As an opera singer, I am not good enough to become your wife.” She tilted her head to stare at him. “Is that what you are saying, William?”
“I love you too much to imprison you.” He rose to his full height and continued. “As my mistress, you would have certain freedoms my wife could never have. I would give you a notice of carte blanche. You will never again incur a debt and will live a life of complete luxury.”
The haughty tone of his words conflicted with the desperation she saw in his gaze. He looked so young, staring at her with those startling blue eyes. So sincere. As though he’d just offered her the most precious gift in the world.
“Yet, you don’t love me enough to marry me.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a long breath. “I already have a wife.”
Bella gasped and her hand clutched at her throat. Her fingers brushed the locket which now weighed heavy around her neck. Chills swept across her skin, followed by scorching heat. Unable to speak, she stumbled backward until her spine hit the door leading to freedom. She dropped her gaze to her toes. From the hallway, a beam of light shone like a beacon under the door. She wanted to run from the ramifications she could not yet face, but that would make her a coward. Thus, she found the courage to demand further explanation. “You’ve pursued me all these months, while already married?”
“What I am offering is far more than marriage.” He stood tall, head erect. His stance was full of aristocratic pride but his gaze held a silent plea. “Think of it, Bella, you will be the celebrated mistress of a viscount in his own right.”
How could he think he offered her something of value, when it meant the desecration of his wedding vows? These long months of pursuit she’d held him at arm’s length, had remained pure, all the while assuming he respected her as very few men respected women in her profession.
She’d been woefully mistaken. He hadn’t been courting a wife. He’d been seducing a mistress.
She had just enough pride left to be furious at him. “I would like you to leave now.”
Rage and anguish, guilt and love tangled in his gaze. “Bella, no, don’t make a hasty decision. I love you.”
His eyes begged her to believe him, and to her shame, she wanted to do just that. Hadn’t she felt his admiration, respect and love grow deeper these past weeks? Was this how Bathsheba had felt when King David had pursued her? Was David’s love so real and desperate, his arguments so convincing that Bathsheba willingly walked into sin with him?
Bella had never felt pity for the woman who committed such a brazen act of adultery. Until now. Heaven help her, Bella still loved William.
But the emotion shamed her.
Perhaps if she found the strength to walk away she could redeem them both. “I cannot accept your offer, William.”
“I will not lose you, Bella. You are my greatest desire, I will die without you. I know I can make you happy. You will never want for anything.”
Desire? Want? Was that how he defined love? She kept her head lowered to hide the spark of anger. At him. At herself for feeling such sorrow over her loss.
Marriage was sacred. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no man put asunder.
“I will not turn into an adulterer this night.”
But she knew, in her heart, the deed was already done. Hadn’t Jesus said that the thought alone made her accountable for the sin?
Apparently unaware of her turmoil, William turned his back to her, idly fiddled with the wax on a candle.
“I have pursued you these two months, have I not, with the benefit of nothing more than your smiles?” He sent her a shrewd glance over his shoulder, shifted to face her. “I honored your purity when I could have had any number of mistresses by now. I want you, Bella. The way a man wants a woman.”
With each word he spoke, her disgrace grew. The room was suddenly hot, so hot she feared she would faint.
Dry eyes were her only defense. “I cannot become your mistress. I will not.”
A
