He studied her. “I wish you well, Pen. I’ve only ever wished you well.”
She knew that. Her rejection of his proposal might sting. Her independence and obstinacy undoubtedly infuriated him. Perhaps he even regretted that they’d never explore the desire simmering between them. But the bonds of childhood affection persisted.
“I wish you well too, Cam,” she said softly.
“What do you intend to do when you get home?”
“Settle my aunt’s affairs.”
“After that?”
She shrugged. “Return to Italy. I have friends here and places I’d like to see.”
“You won’t stay in England?”
And witness, even from afar, Cam’s wedded bliss? Cam becoming a father? She’d rather cut out her liver with a paperknife. “No.”
“Elias and Harry would love to have their sister home.”
“They have their own lives. They’re used to doing without me.”
“Now they have to do without you and without Peter.” He flinched at her distressed inhalation. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
She stared at him. “Goodness, Cam, was that an apology? I thought you’d lost the knack.”
His lips firmed, but he remained calm. Pity. Her longing was so much easier to control when dislike crackled. Except what vibrated between them wasn’t exactly dislike.
“I’ve been a brute.”
Her laugh was wry. “Not by anyone’s definition but your own.”
His gaze remained unwavering. “You know why I’ve been difficult.”
“You told me.”
Then he’d retreated to silence on the subject. Thank heaven. It was excruciating, knowing that he wanted her, but knowing also that only a fool would succumb.
“I’d hoped honesty would simplify things.”
“It didn’t.” The air tautened until she felt suffocated. Would he kiss her? Just one kiss to last a lifetime wasn’t too much to ask. Except she already had too much to remember.
“Is that because you don’t want me?” The flickering light was more deceptive than true darkness. She could almost imagine desperation in his eyes. Cam was never desperate. He’d never let himself become desperate. “Or because you do?”
She jolted back, spilling wine over her hand. “Cam, I—”
“God knows this is wrong. I’m courting another woman. You’re my friend’s sister. We grew up together.” His voice shook. “But tell me you want me. Not knowing is driving me mad.”
She didn’t want to hear this, partly because a wicked, wanton part of her burned to fling herself into his arms and beg him to do a thousand wild and forbidden things to her. She retreated against the balustrade. Fear beat high and fast in her throat.
The threat of betraying her secret hovered close. He must never know she loved him. His pity would be worse than death. “There’s no point to this.”
Cam took her glass and placed it with his on the balustrade. “I need to know.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, then groaned when satisfaction flooded his face. On this breezy terrace, with his usually immaculate dark hair ruffled and his eyes glowing with passion, he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
He grabbed her hand. “If you don’t want me, you’d say so.”
She knew to her bones that if he kept touching her, she’d lie in his bed tonight. “Someone might see.”
“I don’t care. Tell me.”
His touch set her blood ablaze, shooting hot and urgent to the pit of her belly. “What use is this?” she asked in angry despair, struggling to withdraw. “You’re marrying Lady Marianne.”
His gaze focused on her lips, making them tingle as if he kissed her. “Once, I wanted to marry you.”
Bitterness welled. “When you thought you could mold me into what you wanted. Before my family’s eccentricities tumbled over into full-scale scandal with Peter’s ruin.”
She’d cut off her right hand to hear him deny her assertions, but of course, he didn’t. He wouldn’t lie to her. She respected that even as she loathed it. “Lady Marianne will make the perfect duchess.”
Pain lanced through her as she acknowledged that he’d never have said that about Penelope Thorne, even before her bohemian wanderings. “Do you love her?”
He snatched his hand free and his jaw hardened with the rejection familiar whenever anyone mentioned love. “You’re mistaken to think that love is a requirement for a happy marriage.”
“You’re mistaken to think that it’s not,” she snapped back.
“My parents were in love. For a short time.”
“Your parents were always children dressed as grownups.”
He glared down his daunting nose. “You venture on dangerous territory.”
She drew herself to her full height. Temper made her speak in a rush. “Why? You speak freely to me.” Her tone eased. “Cam, I know this … attraction is a pest. But it’s not so surprising. We’re two healthy adults confined to each other’s company. It would be unnatural not to demonstrate a little curiosity.”
A bitter smile twisted his lips. “That’s a facile explanation.”
For a sizzling interval, their eyes met. She knew that, like her, he remembered her standing naked before him.
Then the shutters crashed down over his expression. She felt disoriented. He’d lured her up to a door, then slammed it in her face.
Still, she was grateful when Cam’s fierceness ebbed. It had been torture to hear him speak his need aloud and know that it wasn’t enough, it could never be enough.
As if by common consent, they turned toward the sea that tomorrow became their highway. Somewhere down there his yacht lay at anchor. If winds were favorable, they’d be in England within a fortnight.
A silence descended. At first, it was heavy with suppressed passion, but gradually it became something softer and kinder. As his voice was softer and kinder when he spoke. “Pen, why are you so determined to go into exile? What are you running away from?”
You.
She’d spent the last nine years fleeing this man she loved but who could never love her. Despite excitement and adventure, despite playing a sophisticate in a sophisticated world, she hadn’t run toward anything. What a lowering admission.
“I
