have had her in his bed. Nor would he have left to travel the world for three blasted years.
“I will not be your wife for long,” she reminded him as much as she reminded herself.
His smile faded. “Stubborn as ever.”
“Determined.” She glanced back to the ducks. The swans were swimming from the other end of the lake, taking their time.
“Why?” His soft question had her turning toward him once more. “Do you not think of how good we were together?”
“Until that night,” she said pointedly. “Until I discovered who you truly are.”
“Did you, though, Nellie?” He cocked his head, considering her. “Truly?”
Irritation rose within her. He had no right to return and make her question her decision. “Of course I did. Do not think tending to my blistered feet will banish the memory of that night. Nothing has changed.”
“I have changed. I am not the same reckless drunkard I once was.” His expression, like his voice, was serious. Intense. “Having spent the last three years without you, I appreciate you in a way I did not before.”
She could not deny that he was different. He was more somber than he had once been. She had not seen him drink a drop of liquor. However, that did not abate his culpability either.
“It is too late, Jack.”
“It is never too late,” he countered. “You are still my wife, and I am still your husband.”
Agony sliced through her. Because part of her wanted to forget what had happened three years ago. Part of her wanted to believe he had changed for the better and that she could trust him, that what they had once shared had not been a lie. But she could not go through that much pain again.
She could not afford to believe in him. The first time had nearly proved her ruin.
She tore her gaze from him, looking back to the ducks. “In name only.”
Nell reached into her basket for more corn, then scattered it pell-mell in the grass.
“That, too, can be changed.” His low voice sent a frisson down her spine.
The sensual promise could not be ignored. Nor could her traitorous body’s reaction to him. She could not keep the memories of the passion they had once shared locked away any more than she could cease breathing.
She steeled herself against it, against her reaction to him. “No, it cannot. I am marrying Tom.”
“Have my children.”
His words sent a jolt straight through her. Had she not hooked the handle of the basket over her arm, she would have dropped it.
She glanced back at him, her heart pounding. He was not laughing or smiling or teasing. His ordinary, unflappable charm was absent. He was serious.
A pang of longing tore through her. Once, she had dreamed of having his babes. “Jack, please stop.”
“Why?” He took the basket from her and placed it on the grass at their feet and then took her hands in his. “You act as if I am the most ridiculous man in the world, wanting to remain married to my wife, wanting her to bear my children. You told me you wanted to become a mother. I want to make you one. I need an heir. You want a child. We are already wed. Nothing makes sense more.”
How dangerous he was. His hands on hers were warm, reassuring. She could not seem to summon the desire to extricate herself from his grasp. In more ways than one.
“You hurt me, Jack,” she admitted, hating herself for the tremor in her voice, the way it broke. “I trusted you once, and you took that trust and you crushed it into a thousand pieces the night you allowed Lady Billingsley into your bed. I want to become a mother with a man I trust when he tells me he loves me.”
And she did trust Tom. Tom had waited for her, patiently, sweetly, for so long. He was waiting for her still.
Jack’s fingers tightened on hers. “I am sorry, so sorry for that night. I wish to God it had never happened. I wish I had not been so deep in my cups that I kissed her back. But I have not made love to another woman since we married. I have been faithful to you, aside from those godforsaken kisses.”
He was so earnest. His gaze never wavered.
“Part of me wishes I could believe you.” The admission fled her before she could think better of it. “But all those rumors, Jack…your time on the Continent. Even had I not seen Lady Billingsley