He tried to block out the memory of her stricken expression.
He reminded himself that, it wouldn’t have worked, that Maddy was too unsophisticated, too innocent for the life he led. The frozen feeling lodged at his core had everything to do with being appalled at his lapse in judgment, and nothing to do with her refusal.
Her refusal stung.
What had she said?A proposal as that? Uttered in begrudging resentment—begrudging resentment?—and flung down in the dust.
What nonsense. He hadn’t flung any damn thing in the dust. There was no dust in that cottage; she kept it clean and neat as a new pin. And as for begrudging resentment . . .
A middle-aged woman came toward him in a dogcart, a basket of flowers sitting beside her on the seat. Smiling at him with pleased expectation, she stopped with the clear intent of engaging him in conversation. Another blasted tenant?
“How do you do, madam?” Nash snapped and trotted on.
Rather than marry Nash, Maddy had chosen a lecherous old goat three times her age!
It more than stung. It cut deep. And festered.
A scraggly dog raced out from a farmhouse, yapping fiercely.
All right then, I’ll marry you.
Good God, had he really said that? In that tone of voice? To the woman he’d made love to all night, who’d shattered him with her warmth and generosity. Who’d made no effort to trap him into marriage, who’d only saved his life, tended his injuries, and given him more care than anyone in his life.
Oaf! Where was the silver-tongued diplomat famed for his smooth address?
The trouble was, he was used to dealing with men, negotiating with men. He understood men. Men were logical, or if not precisely logical, easy enough to read, driven by passions he could understand: greed, self-interest, power.
Women now . . . He’d never understood women. He kept them at a distance, flirting, deflecting any with serious intent, indulging in the occasional lighthearted affair with a like-minded female. Never, ever anything remotely emotional. He always made that clear, right from the start.
He’d let Maddy Woodford get closer to him than any woman in his life.
Yet Maddy Woodford hadn’t waxed emotional over him. She hadn’t wept or stormed or railed at him; she hadn’t clung, she hadn’t begged. She’d asked nothing of him at all, only his body. She’d loved him so sweetly and generously through the night, shattering all his self-control, then sent him on her way with a smile, albeit wobbly, and a firm good-bye.
He was the one who’d become emotional. For the first time in his life. The very idea of her marrying that ghastly old goat, lying in a bed while an old man pawed over her, dribbling, slavering his vile, old-man drool over her pure, silken skin . . . It drove him to the brink of insanity.
He closed his eyes, recognizing the emotion roiling through him.
Jealousy.
His father and mother all over again.
Put her out of your mind, man! Forget her. You offered, and she refused.
Dammit, life had been so much simpler before he met Maddy Woodford: calm, pleasant, relatively ordered. He’d known exactly who he was and what he wanted.
Now he had a mass of conflicting desires clawing at his insides like wild beasts, tearing him apart.
He wanted to ride out a storm, to curse the wind and howl at the moon. Instead he was forced to trot sedately through sunshine and spring flowers and twittering blasted birds.
He wanted to punch someone, shoot something, strangle someone. Dammit, he had to dosomething!
Foolish, foolish creature!Maddy upbraided herself silently as she moved about the cottage, packing and sorting clothes.After everything you’ve always said about seizing a chance when it came.So he might have come to resent you for taking advantage of his momentary jealousy. At least you’d have the husband your heart desires.
Not just her heart. As she moved about the cottage, she felt twinges and tenderness in unexpected places, and echoes of the night’s loving rippled gently through her.
Each time it happened, she closed her eyes, luxuriating in every tiny sensation, memorizing, hoarding it for the long, lonely future she’d so foolishly embraced.
She blamed all those songs and poems and stories of giving it all up for love. For the sake of her beloved.
