“Of course. Is something wrong at the inn?”
She shook her head and stepped into the room. “Not at the inn.” She pressed her lips into a tight line, then said, “I want to talk about Lady Westmore.”
Ethan’s hands involuntarily clenched at the sound of her name. “What about her?”
Delia’s gaze skittered away for several seconds, then returned to his. “I suspected there was someone who held yer heart. Someone from yer past. Figured that were the reason ye pretended not to notice the broad hints I tossed in yer direction.” She lifted her chin. “It’s her. Lady Westmore. She’s the one who holds yer heart.”
Bloody hell. Was his lovesick yearning scrawled across his face for everyone to see?
When he didn’t reply, Delia jerked her head in a tight nod. “Well, at least yer not denyin’ it. No point in doin’ so. I saw the way ye looked at her.”
“And how did I look at her?”
“The way I’d hoped ye’d look at me someday.”
Ethan expelled a long breath and dragged his hands down his face. “Delia, I’m sorry.”
“Ye’ve nothin’ to apologize for. Ye never gave me false hope that we’d be more than friends.” She dipped her chin and stared at the floor. “Yer a good man, Ethan. Honorable. Not yer fault that I wish ye were my man.”
He crossed to her and gently clasped her upper arms. “You know I care about you, Delia.”
She looked up, and he saw the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “I know, Ethan. But not in the same way I care about you. I knew it, but I convinced myself that the woman who held yer heart was either gone from yer life or dead. And that one day ye’d wake up and be ready to move on. And I’d be waitin’.”
She drew a deep breath and stepped back, and his hands fell to his sides. “But knowin’ she exists and actually meetin’ her are two different things. I’d never be able to look at you and believe ye were thinkin’ of me. Ye’d be thinkin’ of her, and I’d know it. She’s not some phantom ghost in my mind anymore. I met her. Saw you lookin’ at her. Smilin’ at her. Laughin’ with her. Second place is one thing, but with you, there’d never be a first place. There’s only room for her.”
Bloody hell, he wished he could deny her words. Wished he could transfer his feelings from Cassie to Delia-a woman of his own class with whom he could share a future. Unfortunately, his love for Cassie lived in his bones. Always had. He knew it, and Delia knew it. And he wouldn’t dishonor her by telling her anything less than the truth.
“I never meant to hurt you, Delia.”
She shrugged. “I hurt myself. But now it’s time I stop. I’m leavin’, Ethan. Leavin’ the Blue Seas, leavin’ St. Ives. Plannin’ to go stay with my sister in Dorset. She had twin babies a few months back and could use the help.” She twisted her hands together, and what looked like a combination of confusion, pity, and anger flashed in her eyes. “Ye know yer feelin’s for her are hopeless. Grand ladies don’t take up with folks like us.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I know.”
“Well, yer feelin’s for her won’t keep ye warm at night. Any more than my feelin’s for you will keep me warm. And I’m tired of being cold. And alone. I miss havin’ a husband. I want someone to share my life with. I wish ye luck, Ethan. I hope ye find happiness. And love.”
He stood rooted in place and watched her walk away. Half of him wanted to go after her, beg her to stay, tell her he’d try to forget Cassie-at least enough to attempt making a life with someone else. But the other half knew it wouldn’t happen. The last ten years-and last night-proved that.
Feeling as though he’d been pummeled with ham-sized fists, he stared at the empty doorway through which Delia had left. It couldn’t have been easy for her to have faced him like that-told him she cared for him, especially knowing her feelings weren’t returned. She’d exhibited a courage that he never had. He’d never admitted his feelings to Cassie. Never told her he loved her.
He froze, then, as realization sank in, he slowly raked his hands through his hair. Just yesterday he’d been prepared to shove the past aside and discuss the future with Delia. Had been ready to confess his feelings of friendship and respect, and let her decide if the little he had to offer was enough. If he was willing to do that with Delia, why the bloody hell wouldn’t he do that with the woman he’d loved his entire life?
I want someone to share my life with. Delia’s words reverberated through his mind. Damn it, he wanted someone to share his life with, too. And that someone was Cassie. He had nothing to offer her but himself. There were no titles and estates. But by God, he sure as hell would never hurt her. Plus he could offer her something that bastard Westmore hadn’t given her.
His love. And heart. And soul.
Maybe she’d simply look at him with kindness. Or worse, pity. But maybe for a woman who’d spent the last ten empty years unhappy, lonely, and unloved, the little he had to offer might be enough. If nothing else, at least she’d know she was loved. And by God, she deserved to know that.
Of a certainty she’d turn him down, but it was a chance he’d have to take. As things stood, she was gone from his life, so he had absolutely nothing else to lose by declaring himself. And maybe, just maybe, the little he had would be enough.
He could at least let her decide.
Cassandra sat in the drawing room at Gateshead Manor and tried to concentrate on the conversation bouncing back and forth between her parents, but her mind kept wandering. Luckily Mother had commenced one of her long-winded descriptions of a recent musicale they’d attended, which required nothing more from Cassandra than the occasional nod.
She sipped her tea, using the delicate china cup as a shield to hide her misery, although the effort was most likely wasted, as she doubted either of her parents would have noticed had she taken it into her head to jump upon the table and scream, I’m miserable!
Hmm…that wasn’t truly accurate, she decided. They’d notice. And then Mother would say, You’re nothing of the sort and I’ll hear no more such nonsense. And Father would shake his head and say, You wouldn’t be miserable-none of us would-if you’d cooperated and been born a boy.
Well, she couldn’t argue with that. If she’d been born a boy, she certainly wouldn’t be suffering a broken heart over Ethan.
Ethan…Dear God, she thought she’d experienced pain and emptiness and loneliness over the past decade. How ironic to learn that those years would prove to be merely practice for the future. Nothing she’d suffered at Westmore’s hands could compare to the eviscerating pain of leaving Ethan, a pain squeezed around her so tightly, she couldn’t draw a breath without hurting.
She’d wanted to know what spending time with him, his kiss, his lovemaking would be like, and now she knew. It was everything she’d dreamed. Everything she’d been denied her entire marriage. Everything she’d always wanted-passion and laughter and caring. He’d given her those things for one magical night, one magical night she wouldn’t trade for anything on earth. But one that would render all the following nights that much more hollow.
She took another sip of tea and closed her eyes, and instantly a parade of images flashed through her mind. Of Ethan smiling at her. Feeding her a strawberry. Looking at her with heated desire. Leaning forward to kiss her. Lowering his body to cover hers.
He’d wanted to make their one night together perfect and he’d succeeded. So well that she despaired of ever again being able to close her eyes and not see him. Of ever drawing another breath that didn’t hurt the now vacant area of her chest where her heart used to reside. Of ever being free of the deep ache of wanting him so much. Needing him so deeply.