Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,126

than even the role of savior he’d taken on. He closed his eyes. He’d charmed his way out of prison, any number of hangings. He’d had the words to navigate the complexities amongst men battling for supremacy in the streets of East London.

But God help him . . . he didn’t have the words to keep her.

“I don’t want anything from you. I just . . . want you,” he said hoarsely.

A single tear slid down her cheek, winding a meandering trail, and somehow the solitariness of that lone drop proved more devastating for the finality of it. “The money will always be between us—”

“To hell with the money, Temperance.” The avowal exploded from Dare, but she continued over that interruption.

“The money that you won’t have, married to a barren wife. And you’ll regret not having that money, and you’ll resent that I couldn’t give it to you.” She brought her shoulders back. “I cannot be a real wife to you.”

“I do not care that we cannot have children.”

Sadness glimmered in her eyes. “I’ve seen you with Rose. I know that is a lie.”

Dare ran a hand over his face. “You’re right.” She jerked, and it was all he could do to not take her in his arms and hold her tight forever. “I wanted children. But I wanted them with you. I wanted girls with your spirit and boys with your wit and strength.”

Tears slid down her cheeks, and with shaky hands, he brushed those drops back. But they continued coming. And he’d been wrong before—this endless stream of grief was lash after lash upon his soul. “But, Temperance, I did not, and I do not, want those children more than I want you,” he implored, willing her to see. “We can be a family. You and I. And if you desire it, we can have children other ways, and they will still have your spirit and strength because you raised them.”

She dropped her eyes to his cravat. “Not in the ways that will make them your legitimate heirs.” And there was such a quiet acceptance of that, he spun away from her.

“To hell with the marquessate,” he cried, his voice echoing in the stillness of the room. “To hell with it,” he repeated.

“You don’t mean that. People rely upon you as the marquess. You know that . . . and you wouldn’t ever abandon them.” Temperance drew in an agonizingly shaky breath. “I cannot stay, Dare.”

She couldn’t stay with him? Why didn’t she say that which she truly meant?

Panic and desperation swirled, and he took a step away from her, pacing, and then made himself stop. He faced her and leveled his gaze on her. “Is this what you want?” How was he so calm? How, when he was falling apart inside? “To leave me?”

Please don’t let it be what you want.

She bit down on her lower lip. “This is what we both want,” she whispered.

“No,” he said sharply. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to speak for me and tell me what I want or need.”

She held his gaze. “I don’t want to be with you, Dare.”

His heart lurched, and he frantically searched his gaze over her face, looking for the lie. Needing to find it. “I don’t believe you.”

“I sent you away before,” she pointed out, that snapped utterance striking like a spike to the chest.

And she’d had every right to send him away. He’d failed her. He’d failed at their marriage. Whatever his motives, he’d put thievery ahead of her . . . all the while knowing precisely how she felt about the work he did.

He’d lost the right to her love and a real union.

And he proved a selfish bastard still because he wanted her anyway. “We’re married, Temperance, and that doesn’t just . . . sto-op.” Desperation lent an extra syllable to that word. “I want to fight for us and—”

“There are grounds for a dissolution of our marriage.”

He stared blankly at her. Surely she was not saying . . .

“I’m barren,” she said, misunderstanding the reason for his silence.

He rocked on his heels, the earth moving out from under him. She’d thought . . . all this through.

“I spoke to your grandmother,” she said softly, as if in confirmation of his unspoken thoughts. Temperance glanced briefly down at the floor. “After the dinner party, we talked in private.”

“She had no right to that, Temperance,” he hissed. “None at all.” That most intimate detail about Temperance’s past and her inability