CHAPTER 19

There was a spark of amusement in Clara’s eyes.

“I am very well,” she said. “I came to thank you, Sebastian. You disappeared so quickly this afternoon.”

Sebastian shrugged awkwardly. He was feeling very ill at ease. Before she had arrived, he had been confident he would direct their conversation. Now he was not so sure. The balance of power between them seemed to have changed and he did not know how to change it back.

“Does Martin know that you are here?” he asked. “After last night...”

A shadow touched her face. “No one knows. I slipped out when they thought I was asleep.”

He felt a rush of amusement followed by a jolt of despair. That was his Clara, so stubborn, so determined to do what she felt was right. Yet she was not really his Clara at all. He was about to tell her so.

She sat forward in the chair, looking directly at him. “Do you still intend to leave for the continent tomorrow, Sebastian?”

He looked away. “I do.”

Her face fell. The bright light had gone. “I was hoping that you might have changed your mind,” she said. “We all wished to thank you properly.”

He looked up and met her eyes so sharply that she flinched a little. “Was that why you came here, Clara?” he said harshly. “To thank me?”

”No.” she dropped her gaze. A shade of color stole into her cheeks. “I came here to tell you that I love you.”

Sebastian looked at her. Her eyes were clear and steady. She was the most beautiful thing he thought he had ever seen. He felt an immense admiration for her courage, followed by a choking wave of love and an even sharper pang of despair. How many women would have had the honesty to behave as she had done?

She was regarding him directly but he knew she was nervous. She moistened her lips with her tongue. A tiny frown touched her forehead at his silence.

“My dear.” He cleared his throat. He sounded nervous. That was not good. He had to hide his feelings from her at all costs. “You know that I hold you in the greatest esteem.”

She moved with a swift swirl of silk to kneel at his feet. She put one hand on his knee. “No you do not, Sebastian. You do not hold me in esteem.” Disdain colored her voice. “You love me.”

He moved to raise her to her feet. He could not bear this closeness.

“You and I will never be equal, Clara,” he said, trying to make her understand. “You are too open and truthful—damn it, you are too good for me. I am jaded. My soul is old.”

Clara smiled. It devastated him. “You are making excuses, Sebastian. Do you think I do not know? You are afraid to let yourself love me.”

He knew she was right. He had been building barriers against her from the moment they met, instinctively knowing that her love could be his undoing. And now the thing he feared most had happened. He was undone. He had to make her leave him before he disintegrated completely. He could not explain to her about Oliver. That would bring her too close and he would never recover.

“You are in love with love, Clara,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “For me there is nothing between liking and lust. Do not try to dress up my desire for you as something it is not.”

There was a stubborn spark of anger in Clara’s eyes now. “Why are you lying to me, Sebastian? What is it that you fear?”

He feared so much. He feared that he would offer her his love and she would then have the power to destroy him. But more than anything he feared taking responsibility for another life. He had failed once before when he had allowed Oliver to die. He could not risk that happening to Clara, his one and only love. He said nothing.

“I know you love me,” Clara repeated. “I saw it in your face today at the pool. That is why I am here!” She spread her hands wide. “You have only to allow yourself to care for me and all will be well.” Her tone was less forceful now, as his silence was starting to undermine her certainties.

”I do care for you,” Sebastian said, “but I do not care for you enough.” He hated himself for what he was doing. He could see the color draining from her face and the spirit leaching from her eyes, and knew how much he was hurting her. “I acknowledge that people can love each other with the sort of passion you describe,” he said. He could barely hear his own false words over the desperate beating of his heart. “But I do not love you like that, Clara,” he said starkly. “I do not love you nearly enough. It would not be fair to you to promise otherwise.”

Clara scrambled to her feet. There was a blankness to her eyes. She stumbled a little, bumping clumsily into the small table on which stood his glass of brandy. He wanted to pull her into his arms then and never let her go, to comfort her and beg her forgiveness. He was too afraid to do it.

“Either you are lying or you do not know the truth,” Clara said. She did not trouble to keep her voice from shaking and he loved her for it; he loved her for the strength of character that made artifice unimportant to her. “I was wrong when I called you coldhearted,” she added. “Your heart is a desert, Sebastian, a dry, shriveled place where nothing can live, least of all love.”

He could not look at her. He waited until he heard the soft patter of her footsteps receding and then he finally looked up. The face that looked back at him from the mirror was barely recognizable. He looked so haggard. He looked a broken man.

He had hurt Clara inexcusably. But he had succeeded in driving her away and protecting himself from the terrifying risk of loving and losing her.

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