She spun back toward him, furious at the callous way he referred to their life. To her life. “Perhaps our sham of a marriage isn’t long for this world anyway.”
“What does that mean?”
She gave a little humorless laugh. “Only that you clearly care not a bit for it.”
“Your precious Tommy asked you to run with him, didn’t he?” It was her turn to remain silent. Let him believe what he wanted. He came closer. “Are you planning to go, Penelope? Planning to ruin our marriage and your reputation and your sisters’ names with one selfish choice?”
She could not stop herself from replying. “I am selfish?” She laughed, and pushed past him toward the door. “That is amusing, coming from you—the most selfish man I’ve ever known—selfish enough to destroy your friends, and your wife in service to your own goals.”
She reached for the door handle, gasping when his hand snaked out of the darkness to capture her wrist. “You are not leaving until this is through. Until you have given me your word that you will stay away from Tommy Alles.”
Of course she wasn’t going anywhere with Tommy. But she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Why? Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I left with him? Then you could get your revenge and your freedom in one wide swath.”
“You’re mine.”
She rounded on him. “You are unbalanced.”
“That may be. But I am also your husband. You would do well to remember that fact. And the fact that you pledged to obey me.”
She gave a little, humorless laugh. “And you pledged to honor me,” she retorted. And we both pledged to love the other. That hasn’t worked out either.
He stilled. “You think I have done you a dishonor?”
“I think you do me a dishonor every time you touch me.”
He released her then, so quickly it was as though her skin had burned him. “What does that mean?”
She hesitated, uncertain, the argument suddenly moving in a direction with which she was not entirely comfortable.
“Oh no, my lady.” He fairly spat the honorific. She realized she had offended him. “You will answer the question.”
Yes. She would.
“Every time you touch me, every time you show me the slightest interest, it is for your benefit. Your goals. Your revenge, of which I want no part. There is nothing about it that is for me.”
“No?” The words dripped with sarcasm. “Interesting, as you seem to have enjoyed my touch.”
“Of course I’ve enjoyed it. You’ve done everything you could to ensure that I would follow you through fire in those instances. You’ve used your obvious . . . She paused, waving a hand in his direction, “ . . . prowess in the bedchamber to further your own goals.” The words were coming fast and furious now. “And you’ve done a remarkable job of it. I confess, I am impressed. By both your clever strategy and your impeccable performance. But pleasure is fleeting, Lord Bourne—fleeting enough that it is not worth the pain of being used.” She set one hand to the door handle, eager to leave the room. And him. “Forgive me if I find myself unwilling to drop everything and remember my vows when you have so misused your own.”
“You think it would have been different with your precious Tommy?”
Her gaze narrowed. “I shan’t apologize for caring for him. There was a time when you cared for him as well. He was your oldest friend.” The third of their trio. She let her disappointment edge into her tone.
Anger flashed in his eyes. “He was no friend at all when it was time to show himself.”
She shook her head. “You think he did not regret his father’s actions? You are wrong. He did. From the start.”
“Not enough. But he will when I am through with him.”
She became protective. “I shan’t let you hurt him.”
“You haven’t any choice. Your dear Tommy will be ruined alongside his father. I vowed revenge nine years ago, and nothing will stand in my way. And you shall thank God you did not marry him, or I would level you with them.”
Her gaze narrowed. “If you ruin Tommy, I promise I shall regret every moment of my marriage to you.”
He laughed at that, humor absent in the sound. “I imagine you’re already on that path, darling.”
She shook her head. “Hear me. This misguided vendetta—should you follow through with it—it will prove that everything you ever were, all the good in you . . . it is gone.”
He did not move. Did not even show he’d heard her.
He didn’t care. Not about Tommy. Or about her. Or about their past, and the truth of it made her ache. She could not stem the tide of words. “He was devastated by the loss of you. Just as—” She stopped.
“Just as—?” he prompted.
“Just as I was,” she spat, hating the words even as they came on a flood of memory, along with the aching sorrow she had felt when she’d heard the story of Michael’s ruin. “He missed you just as I did. He worried about you just as I worried. He looked for you. Tried to find you. Just as I did. But you were gone.” She took a step toward him. “You think he left you? It was you who left, Michael. You left us.” Her voice was shaking now, all the anger and sadness and fear she had felt in those months, those years after Michael had disappeared.
“You left me.” She put her hands to his chest, pushing him with all her might, with all her anger. “And I missed you so much.” He took several steps back in the silence of the dark room, and Penelope realized that she had said more than she should have said—more than she ever would have imagined saying. She took a deep breath, pushing back the tears that threatened, so close. She would not cry. Not for him.