Page 61 of His Dark Heart
“I shall not because fears are a concern of mine. How can you cherish me as you do and yet not trust me?”
He snorted bitterly. “As if you cherish or trust me.”
* * *
Flinching as though she had been slapped, Elizabeth let her eyes cool and levelled an angry glare at him. She placed her hands on his cheeks in order to force him to see her.
“I cherish the parts of you that you have shown me privately. You are a different man in company, sir, the cold, calculating man who forced me into this situation, but alone, you are a man who appears gentle and kind. Which of you is the false one so I may prepare my emotions?
“And to say that I do not trust you is an insult! Would I let you have my body as ye do if I did not trust ye!” She was yelling now, falling back into her natural speech as her words grew more passionate. Damn! She was still in his lap! Although she tried to find footing to escape the tub and quit the room, he would have none of it, and grabbed her, holding her still firmly.
“Forgive me,” he said. The memory of those words in his nightmare seemingly shook them both to their cores. “I had not realized this was so important to you.”
She stared at his chest; her mouth set in a grim line while her eyes swam with tears. Her breath was hard and fast, and her fists were clenched beneath the water. Cautiously, Darcy pulled her to his chest again, repeating the gesture of smoothing her hair in an effort to calm her.
“You left me,” he choked out. “You left me, and I was broken without you.”
Unable to look at him, Elizabeth blinked back the tears as best she could. In that moment, if he would have asked her to stay and love him, she could easily answer yes on both counts. She touched the scar over his heart, fearing that someday she might leave an invisible one there. He was beginning to mean too much to her as she observed this complex man's walls crumble away to expose him in his raw state. Blindly, she looked at him, her lips parted as the stunning realization of her own heart enveloped her. She put a finger on his lips and shook her head.
“Fear not, William. It shall never happen.”
“Merely because of a vow, my sweet.”
She rested her forehead against his shoulder, knowing that a few words would never convince him of her intentions. He would not believe her if she told him she loved him anyway. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Then how are we to get past this distress? How are we to make peace with our situation? When I promise to be with you and be your wife and you think my word is only because of a vow or my Papa's home, how are we to trust each other?”
“I do not know.”
She sighed. Finally, she sat up and pushed back.
“Let me go.”
He flinched, and she accepted his response was probably due to what she had said in his dream, but she was frustrated with him and with their impasse.
“Damn it. Let me go.” She squirmed.
He released his grip on her body, but she did not leave the tub. Instead, she peeled away the wet shift she had been wearing and straddled his lap. Solemnly, she placed his hand over her heart and mimicked the gesture, her fingers brushing his waxy, pink scar.
“If you want to believe that I do not feel anything, then I can do nothing to stop it, but know this: when you laugh my heart leaps, when you show fear my heart aches, when your mouth touches mine or your hands caress my skin my heart beats like mad and does all of this for you. My heart has always been the true measure of my feelings and if I did not care a bit for you, you would have no effect on this mass inside me whatsoever. But you do, William.
“I am not made of stone, and neither are you, despite that you had rather be. I am perfectly aware of how hungry you were for me on our wedding night, but you put that hunger aside and brought me to you gently, tenderly. That moved me more than you shall ever know.
“I am over my anger at you, and, by the gods, I have never been afraid of you. But you must give me an inch, or I shall come to hate you. I will. And not for the reasons you might think. I shall hate your mistrust and your suspicion, which will colour my opinion of you, and I do not want that.
“I am your wife. I promised to be your wife for the rest of my life. Have I given you reason to think that I would betray you?”
“No.”
“Then, damn it, trust me.” She slid her hand up his chest, cradled his neck, and brushed her lips over his heart. “Let me be the best wife I can be.”
He took a handful of her curls and ran his fingers through. She turned her head, pressing her lips against his palm. When she looked at him again, tears were tumbling out of her eyes.
“Pray, can you?” she asked.
“Gods, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I would give you anything: jewels, horses, land—and yet I know none of those things are as important to you as a promise. So, I shall make a promise to you. I will trust you. I will care for you and honour you and do everything I can to make you happy while you are with me.”
“Are you making an attempt to rid your life of me, sir?” she asked glibly.
