“I love you, Blayne.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled it. “No.”
“No?” Her stomach began to twist while a sharp pain drove through her soul. She’d not expected him to reciprocate the sentiment, but neither had she thought he’d refute what she felt.
“Ye cannae be in love with me, lass. Yer mind’s just a wee bit muddled because of the way I make ye feel when we’re together like this. But that’s just lust. Nothing more.”
Clamping her mouth shut, Charlotte tried to pull air into her lungs as the pain his denial caused collided with anger. “Yes, Blayne. That must be it. I’m just a foolish woman who can’t differentiate between love and infatuation.”
“Charlotte. I didnae mean to imply ye dinnae feel something for me. It’s just that—”
“It can’t be love?” When he didn’t answer she huffed a frustrated breath. “Don’t tell me what I can or cannot feel, Blayne. These are my emotions and when it comes to you, they’re so overwhelmingly strong they terrify me half the time. And when they’re not doing that, they’re making me wish we could somehow be more to each other than this. Whatever this even is anymore, because frankly I’m no longer sure. But you must feel something too. I mean, you said I was your woman, which is a pretty possessive statement to make.”
A nerve ticked at the edge of his jaw. “I merely said it because I knew all those men would leave ye alone if they thought ye were already spoken for by me.”
She shook her head. “You’re lying.”
“I cannae marry ye, Charlotte,” he told her firmly, “so if that’s where this conversation is heading, ye need to stop.”
“I’m not suggesting we wed.” Was she? For years she’d lived with the dream of building a life on her own without a husband and yet, whenever Blayne spoke of his own disinterest in marriage, she wished he would reconsider – that he would suggest she change her goal to one that included him.
She stared at him, at his almost hostile posture and the way he refused to look at her. Disheartened and unsure of what else to say, she bent to retrieve her cloak. Nothing about this evening was turning out as she’d expected. “You’re a good man. No matter what you’ve done in the past, the person I know you to be is kind, helpful, and protective. You’ve supported me when no one else would, applauded my achievements even though most people would think them scandalous. You accept me for who I am and when I’m with you, I feel strong, safe, and complete.”
He closed his eyes against her words as if they pained him. “Charlotte. Ye dinnae ken what ye’re saying.”
“Stop telling me that.” She had a good mind to punch him. If he’d been of a smaller size she would have given him a good shake, but he was too massive compared with her. She’d not even make him budge.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “Ye cannae truly love someone unless ye ken all their flaws and accept them. Those qualities ye just mentioned may be good, but they cannae overshadow the bad. And trust me when I tell ye, ye dinnae want to ken how bad it really is.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
Shock registered in his eyes. “What?”
“I don’t believe you,” she repeated. “I know you, Blayne. You could never do something truly awful. Those men you told me you killed while working with Guthrie threatened your life and the lives of others. You rescued women and children from monsters. You fought to stay alive and while your actions might not have been legal, I still think you did the right thing. In my mind, protecting those who cannot protect themselves is heroic, Blayne. I admire you for it and don’t think of it as a blemish upon your soul, because it’s not.”
“I’m nae speaking of that,” he gritted as if it hurt him to talk. “I’m speaking of the life I had before Guthrie.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I cannae do that. Not ever. Ye just need to trust me on this.”
She hated his stubbornness and the rift it was causing between them. Knowing he wouldn’t budge, however, she grudgingly accepted defeat and gave a swift nod. They stared back at each other a moment before she asked, “When you went to the publisher about my book, what did they say?”
“I wasnae able to get past the clerk. The man didnae seem inclined to believe my story. He told me that if it were indeed true, I had to return with the author.”
“I suppose that does make sense.” Charlotte straightened her spine. “Will you escort me there tomorrow afternoon?”
“I probably shouldnae.”
Fearing her voice would break if she spoke too quickly, she took a moment to gather her composure. “Please don’t end our relationship like this. At least help me finish what we started.”
“Very well. If that is what ye wish.”
The resignation with which he spoke broke her already fragile heart. Pressing her lips together to stop her tears from falling, Charlotte flung her cloak over her shoulders, secured it with a bow, and pulled the hood up over her head. “Meet me at our designated spot. Four o’clock.”
“Allow me to see ye home.”
“There’s really no need. If you could just—”
“Charlotte. I’m nae letting ye out of my sight until I’m sure ye’re safely inside Russell House. Is that clear?”
His curt remark instilled both joy and misery in her bones. He cared, more than he was willing to admit, she’d wager. But what good did it do when he was determined to fight it – to walk away from her without a backward glance?
She tamped down the panic she felt at the thought of them parting ways soon. For now, there was still tomorrow, and she was determined to savor each second the day allowed her to spend in his company.
14
After last night, there was no longer any doubt in Blayne’s mind. He had to cut ties with Charlotte before this powerful pull between them led her into additional danger. It was the right thing to do. Especially since he could promise no future.
Sitting across from her in the hackney as they headed over to P. Agerson Publishing on Charring Cross Road in Whitehall, Blayne studied the woman he’d fallen hopelessly in love with. She was wearing a pretty pink dress today with a short sleeved shamrock green spencer. It had intricate pleats down the front and on the sleeves. To finish off the ensemble, she had on a straw bonnet, tied beneath her chin with a voluminous white ribbon.
He would never tell her how he felt. To do so would only cause her additional pain when he finally pushed her away for good. At least if she didn’t believe his feelings matched hers, it might be easier for her to walk away without looking back.
Clenching his jaw, he struggled to calm his breaths and steady his thundering heart. Never in his life had he wanted something as badly as he wanted her. It crushed him to keep all that bottled up inside, to not fall on his knees and pledge himself to her forever.
Giving his attention to the window, he forced himself to do what he always tried to avoid, which was to think back on the terrible crime he’d committed. His mother’s wide eyes filled with fear and his father’s large hands at her throat. His own useless attempt to pull his father away. The candelabra. An innate need to stop what was happening.