not trust you not to flee.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her in that intense manner he had always possessed.
She opened her mouth to protest. “I—”
“Do not,” he interrupted, “pretend you did not already entertain the thought.”
Her cheeks went hot. She had, of course.
Damn him all over again.
“Do not act as if you know me, Needham,” she said coolly, entering the carriage at last, ever cognizant of the servants overhearing their tense exchange.
She had ceased caring what others thought of her a long time ago, but she hardly wanted to stand about arguing with him for the next hour. The sooner she got into the carriage, the sooner she could see Tom. And it would appear her husband had no intention of vacating the carriage so she could travel in peaceful solitude.
The door closed as she settled herself on the squab opposite Needham, settling her skirts into place and doing her best to pretend as if he were not there. An impossible feat to achieve, as it happened. Needham had always set her pulse racing and filled the very air with a pulse of electric awareness. As he had said, curse him, some things did not change.
“I know you, Nell.” His low voice interrupted her thoughts as the carriage swayed into motion. “Perhaps you have forgotten just how well.”
Heat unfurled, deep within her. Remembrance hit her. Laughing with him, kissing in the rain, sitting up all night in his massive bed, drinking wine and talking about poetry, the beautiful weight of his body atop hers, the slide of his tongue in her mouth, his cock inside her. Desire—hated, unwanted—returned.
She did her best to banish it, curling her hands into fists at her sides.
Reluctantly, she stole a glance at him. “You do not know me at all, my lord. Indeed, you never did. No one knows me better than Tom.”
Her words had their intended effect.
He stiffened as if she had dealt him another physical blow. “Sidmouth could not possibly know you better than I do.”
Of course he did not. She allowed no one near to her heart. Not after their disastrous union. Needham had hurt her too deeply. His betrayal had hardened her, leaving her jaded and hollow.
Empty.
But she would be damned before she would admit as much to the scoundrel. “Tom knows me better than I know myself. He is all I ever hoped to find in a husband.”
Lies.
In truth, everything she had ever hoped to find in a husband was Needham. Jack. Until he had betrayed her and ruined her world. But like so many other truths, she would never admit as much to him. He already had too much power over her. More than he supposed. Time, distance, and anguish had not dissipated the way she felt for him, much to her dismay.
She doubted it ever could, and his return had only underscored that pathetic truth.
“Pity I am your husband, then.” Needham’s voice was frigid. Angry, too.
She met his gaze, unflinching. “For now.”
His expression shuttered. “Sooner or later, you must cease persisting in this foolish belief you can put an end to our union.”
Extricating herself from their marriage was not impossible. Nor was it a foolish notion. If she believed that, all hope was lost. He was right that he had more power in the matter than she did. Divorce law, by nature, favored the man. But in the last few months, there had been one fact which had given her solace: that she might free herself from this untenable marriage and start anew.
She still wanted her chance at happiness. She still wanted to be a mother.
Tom could give her that.
Needham could only give her more misery, even if he could give her a child.
“It is not a foolish belief,” she defended, attempting to remain calm. “Why should you want to remain married to a woman who despises you, Needham? Your perversity defies logic.”
“Do you truly despise me?” His half grin returned. “I think not, darling.”
She did despise him—or rather, what he had done. To her. To them.
Her fingernails dug into her palms. “I do.”
“Hmm.” He looked away from her then, turning his gaze out the window at the slowly passing scenery.
His noncommittal response nettled her. She had no doubt that was what he had intended. She stewed in silence for an interminable span of time, the only sound between them the sounds of the carriage rumbling over the road. She told herself not to engage in further dialogue. Told herself that silence was far