Finally, she lay there against him exhausted. Hours might have passed for all she knew. He touched her face, the pad of his thumb tracing a lazy line along her jaw. “I still love you, Helena.”
Let me love you.
She had heard those words last night, savored them even, as she had made them into something more than he had meant. She had allowed herself to pretend they were in love. Never once had she allowed herself to believe that he really did. Affection? Yes. But love?
She sat up, dislodging his hand. “Max, please. I know that you feel some affection for me, but love is a strong word.”
“A true word.”
She shook her head. “Then that is all the more reason we should end this now before that emotion has a chance to deepen.”
“End this?” His brows drew together, and she ached at the pain in his eyes. “Why?”
“I cannot bear your children. Children that you want. Children your parents want you to have. You heard the many toasts your father has given in honor of us and the many children we shall have. He even gave you a very harsh ultimatum all in the effort to have grandchildren. The legacy of Crenshaw Iron must be preserved at any cost.” She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “That cost is me. Us.”
He was shaking his head before she had finished. “No, that’s not fair. Don’t hold my father against me.”
She covered his mouth before he could say more, and he glared at her. “I’m not. You yourself have even said that you want children. Perhaps not now, not next year, but you want children, Max. You can’t deny that having a family is something you have wanted for yourself.”
Taking hold of her wrist, he moved her hand away from his mouth. “Am I not allowed any say in this?”
“No. Perhaps. I don’t know.” Even though his arms were the only place she wanted to be, she made herself stand, and dropped his coat onto the arm of the chair. “I don’t think your feelings are honest, because I am telling you that what you want is impossible. Therefore, you change what you want so you can have me.” She shook her head, aware that she was so exhausted she wasn’t even making sense anymore. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I believe that you think you want me, and right now, in this moment, you are willing to say whatever will get you to that goal. You are an honorable man, so you probably even believe yourself. But it’s a lie you’re telling yourself. You can’t so easily make yourself not want a child. Believe me, I tried for many years.”
He stood. “You’re right. I do want children—did want children—but I want you more, Helena.”
“For now, yes, but one day you’ll feel differently. Go home, Max. Go back to your life in Manhattan and Newport and don’t think about me anymore.”
“You ask the impossible.”
“Please, go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine.”
“And what if I still want you to be my wife?”
“Then I feel sorry for both of us.” She hurried from the room before he could do more than call her name. The truth was that she knew he would not want her later. Once the gravity of her inability to have children penetrated, he would be relieved that she had let him go.
“Helena!”
She whirled to see that he had followed her and was in the corridor coming toward her. Fresh tears wet her cheeks. “Don’t come any closer.” Desperation filled her voice. If he did, she wouldn’t be able to push him away again; she knew the limits of her own strength. If they spent another night together, then her resolve might very well melt away.
He stopped abruptly, hurt and despair evident on his face.
“Please.” She turned then and ran, holding the shredded pieces of her heart together as she did.
Chapter 23
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
Oscar Wilde
Max sat on the sofa and held his face in his hands. It didn’t help that they smelled like her. Lilies and the sweet salt of her body.
That conversation had not gone at all as he had anticipated. He had been prepared for Helena to assert that the physical distance between her life in London and his life in New York was too great to overcome. He’d had a list of counterarguments ready in his head.
They could compromise. He’d agree to return to London every year. Or she could reside here for three months and spend the rest of the year with him—six months if she balked at that. He’d been prepared to agree to any amount of time if it meant that he could have her.
Her next declaration would have been something about her family, and then his family. He would have argued against both, because nothing mattered except what was between them. Nothing except the fact that he loved her. That she loved him if only she would let herself acknowledge it. Then he would have kissed her and petted her until she admitted that she felt the same. They would have spent the night again in her bed, and in the morning he would have kissed her goodbye, secure in the knowledge that she would be joining him in a few months at most.
This . . . this was so much more severe than he had ever dared to imagine. He had known that her first marriage had produced no children, and he had never seriously contemplated the reason for that. Violet had mentioned once that Helena’s husband had died from some sort of intestinal cancer, and Max had merely assumed that the man’s illness had prevented or at least greatly interfered in their plans for children.
“Max.”
August stood framed in the doorway, her smile fading as she saw the expression on his face. He could only imagine how he must look. His eyes were dry but burning. His chest felt hollow, ravaged by grief and anger and despair in a way he had never experienced.
She walked cautiously into the room as if expecting something to jump out at her. “What’s happened? Where is Helena?” She looked around, searching the shadows.
“Gone. To her room maybe.” His voice sounded vacant and dull.
Her hand settled on his shoulder, and he nearly shrank from the comfort. “Did you argue?”
He shook his head. “Not really, no.” Taking in a shuddering breath, he said, “I told her I love her, and she told me the reason we can never marry.”
“Oh, Max, I’m so sorry.” She sank onto the sofa beside him and put her arms around him. “I would have sworn she would say yes to you. I know this was all pretend, but I saw the way she looked at you and you at her.”
“It’s not for lack of affection.”
She was silent as she pulled away to study him, a crease forming between her brows. “Then why?”