She closed her eyes, thinking of nothing but the scandalous sensations his lips incited and the solid press of his body against hers. His words reverberated languidly in her mind.
What do I do with you?
Her eyes shot open. Whatwerethey to do? She could not bring herself to tell him about Roxbury, and he either could not or would not discuss his work for the Foreign Office or his relationship with Lady Victoria. They were at an impasse, neither willing nor able to trust the other.
There were so many secrets and lies between them, and Francesca was tired of secrets and lies. For too long, she’d concealed Roxbury’s secret outbursts and the bruises they left behind. When she’d finally escaped Roxbury, she’d vowed there would be no more secrets. No more lies.
“Stop.” She pushed at his chest, though everything in her rebelled against parting from him.
He frowned, raising a confused gaze to hers. She pushed him away, and he took a halting step back.
“What’s wrong?” His expression was concerned, mystified.
“I want you to stop,” she repeated, trying to convince herself.
“Cara.” He moved to enfold her in his arms again, but she ducked away.
“No!”
The confusion in his expression snapped away. He held up his hands, palms out. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything, and that’s the problem.” She covered her face with her hands, wishing she could be content with the meager part of himself he offered her and knowing he would never give her all she wanted from him. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples.
“Nothing has changed between us, and, unless it does, I don’t want you to touch me again.” Her gaze met his. “Ever.”
His eyes hardened, and she saw the pain her statement had caused him. With a shock, she realized he’d been vulnerable a moment before. The stab of anguish in her chest at the knowledge she’d caused him pain was almost unbearable, but she could not go back. Nor did she want to. It had to be this way.
“Very well.” He turned away from her.
“That’s all you want to say?” she blurted out. “Very well?” She hadn’t expected him to proclaim his undying devotion, but crass disregard was a slap.
“You ask too much, Francesca.” He rounded on her, and she saw the tight fury rippling through him.
In a whirl of anger, she spun around, tore open the door and stomped down the hall. Heedless of the early hour, she slammed her bedchamber door closed behind her. When she’d gone to Ethan’s room, the rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, now the clouds opened up again and outside her window the rain crashed down in cold sheets. Apparently the sun had no intention of making an appearance that day. And, Francesca sank onto her bed, there was absolutely no hope of a rainbow.
Twenty-three
