her so, would be worse than a life without her. He could not bear her pain.
And Nell? She still did not believe him. She doubted his word. Doubted his faithfulness. And whilst he could not deny Lady Billingsley had been in his bed that night, and although it was no excuse, he had never betrayed Nell aside from being too deep in his cups when the wrong woman had slid into his bed, naked and ready to seduce.
He reached the edge of the trees and slowed his mount. The old path remained, wide enough for a horse to pass. And there was only one way that was possible, after three years of his absence. Nell had been coming here.
Hope rose, sharp as a knife, within.
Slowly, carefully, he guided his horse along the shadowy path leading to the stream. After a time, he saw what he had been waiting for, what he had been hoping for. Nell’s horse was tethered to a tree, nosing at a clump of grass sprouting in a slat of sunlight between the massive old oaks.
Relief hit him.
She was here. Somewhere. He just had to find her.
Jack reined in his mount and tethered her to a tree not far from Nell’s mount. And then he set off on foot down the trail, where it grew narrow and twisted and rife with old tree roots rising from the earth, making it treacherous indeed for equine travel.
Strange how he could have been absent from a place for so long, and yet he knew every bend in the path by heart. He knew were moss grew thick, where a massive old quartz rock protruded white and sparkling from the earth, where wild flowers sprouted like old friends every year. And he knew the precise moment he would hear the gurgling of the stream.
One step, two.
There it was. The stream.
And there she was, his Nellie.
She was seated, her back to him, skirts billowing around her, on a bed of forget-me-nots. The sun was shining down on her through the break in the trees overhead, making her appear as if she glowed. As if she were an angel, sent from heaven.
Neither was true.
She was all too human, all too real.
As he neared her, he realized she seemed to be poring over something in her lap.
“Nellie,” he said softly, hating the way she stiffened at his voice.
She cast him a frigid look over her shoulder. “Why are you here, Jack?”
He settled down beside her, taking note of the book cracked open in her skirts. “I was worried about you. You have been gone for hours.”
She sighed. “Intentionally. I want to be alone.”
It seemed he was forever chasing her, at a bitter stalemate. Would he ever catch her, hold her, keep her?
“Do you despise me that much, Nellie?” he asked, holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
She took her time, averting her gaze toward the stream.
“I despise what you did,” she said at last.
“On that, we are in agreement,” he said softly.
One night had been all it took to ruin his marriage and destroy his life. One moment.
She glanced at him, her expression hardening. “You are admitting it now?”
He met her gaze, unflinching. “I am admitting the truth, as I always have. I was soused. Lady Billingsley came to the wrong bed. I thought she was you. I kissed her. I never bedded her.”
“Even if what you say is the truth, I saw you kissing her, Jack. How could you mistake her for me?” There was such anguish in her face, and he hated himself for being the one who had put it there.
For being responsible for her pain.
For being the one who had torn them apart.
“There is no excuse, Nellie. I was a drunken fool. Stupid and reckless and selfish.” He had learned a great deal about himself in the last three years. He could own his sins. “I wish to God that night never happened, that I never hurt you.”
“Why did you devote it to me?” she asked suddenly.
Her question threw him. He frowned, trying to make sense of it. “Pardon?”
“Your book.” She held up the volume abandoned in her lap, and recognition slid over him. “Why did you devote it to me?”
She must be speaking of one of his travel memoirs. But he had dedicated each volume to her, which meant she had only read one thus far.
“Penance,” he said truthfully. “And love.”
Her lush lips tightened. “It is an excellent account.”
Her praise sounded reluctant. He could not help but to