“Not yet.” She was intrigued by what she saw now and took three additional steps inside. In contrast to her own, his chamber was lush and vivid, dominated by deep reds, blues, and browns. The fabrics were heavy and thick, the woods dark and burnished. The room oozed heat and sensuality. She gaped at it in wonder, then turned to glance in the direction of her room.
“Is that how you really see me?” she asked, staring at the adjoining door.
“What do you mean?” Ethan’s eyebrows came together.
She rounded on him. “Isthathow you see me?” She jabbed her finger at her chamber. “Pure and pristine? Virginal white? Like I’m a princess you’ve put on a pedestal, and you’re just waiting for her to fall.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes. “What the devil are you talking about? It’s late—”
She nodded, cutting him off. “It is late, and it will be later still. Look at your room, Ethan, and look at mine.” She took a step toward him, gesturing wildly. “You set me apart from you. You put me in an ivory tower in your snow-white castle, and then you sat here, waiting for me to”—sarcasm laden with bitterness welled up in her—“besmirch its purity.”
She was directly in front of him now, could feel the heat from the fire behind them. But no heat came from him. He was as indifferent and inhospitable as his home.
“Doesn’t this marriage mean anything to you?” she finally demanded, exasperated by his silence.
“You dare askmeif this marriage means something?” He leaned down, his stance intimidating. “Need I remind you, madam, that barely three hours ago I found you in another man’s arms?”
He turned from her with a look of disgust, but she grasped his arm. “Stop it! You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?” He arched a callous eyebrow.
“Yes, you do.”
He snorted, but she ignored it and went on. “I didn’t encourage Templeton. I told him in no uncertain terms to take his hands off me before you opened that door. But I’m wasting my time. None of it matters, does it, Ethan?”
His stare met hers. His eyes were so cold, so cruel—fossilized amber made hard by the years of bitterness and resentment. She wished for just one moment she could see them heated with passion and love again.
Love? She wanted to laugh, to cry. He didn’t love her; he didn’t eventrusther. And he never would. He turned his back on her, facing the fire, and all the anger drained out of her, replaced by a crippling sadness.
“Why can’t you trust me?” she said softly. “I’m not her.”
He whipped around violently and she cried out, taking a step back. Out of habit, she’d thrown her hand in front of her face, and when she lowered it, he was shaking his head.
“And I’m nothim, Francesca. I’m not Roxbury. You say I don’t trust you.” He closed the distance between them, and this time she didn’t shift away. “But you don’t trust me. Every time I make a sudden movement, you flinch. Do you know what that does to me?” There was a flash of pain in his eyes, and Francesca felt the faintest glimmer of hope that he did care for her. “I would never hurt you.”
She grasped his hand, pleading. “I know, Ethan. I know, and I’m sorry. I—I can’t help it.”
“And I can’t help comparing you to Victoria.”
She threw his hand down. “It’s completely different.”
“How?” He locked his arms across his chest. “How is it different?”
“Roxbury hit me. He hurt me physically. It happened so often and for so long that it’s almost become second nature for me to react as I do.”
Sorrow replaced the pain in his eyes, and he reached for her.
“Don’t!” She darted out of his arms. “I don’t want your pity.” She backed away from him, edged toward the adjoining door. “It’s bad enough that you see how weak, how pathetic I was to allow Roxbury to do that to me, to put up with it for so long.”
Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. They would blur the contempt she knew would be in his eyes.
“I’ve wanted—wanted so many times—to explain it. I felt like I wasnothing.” She pressed her fist to her heart, held it there. “I wanted to break it off sooner, but I was afraid. I believed him that no one else would ever want me.”
She’d revealed more than she’d intended, and the stark truth behind her words sent hot, crimson shame crashing through her. With a sob, she turned to flee, but Ethan’s arm came around her waist. “Let go.” She tried to twist away, but he only pulled her more tightly against him.
“Francesca,” he whispered in her ear.
“Let go!” she cried, desperate to escape.
