His Suitable Bride(119)

Isandro stuck his hands deep in his jean pockets and then took them out again. His fists were clenched. Rowan looked so vulnerable and defenceless standing behind the chair. A surge of emotion broke through the awful numbness and instinctively he moved towards her. But then abruptly he stopped again. He felt … he felt as if he was being torn in two. Like nothing else he’d ever experienced. He wanted to go over to her and crush her to him, hold her in his arms and never let her go. And yet … much to his utter shame … he couldn’t. Not yet. Couldn’t even hold her, because he was afraid of what might erupt out of him if he did. Unbeknownst to him, his face suddenly looked drawn and lined.

‘And the note?’

Rowan flushed. ‘That was to ensure you didn’t come after me. I was hoping to dent your ego, your pride …’

She saw a flare of something in his eyes, but it died away, because he had to acknowledge that she’d been right. And that irked him beyond belief.

She looked down at her hands. ‘I’d written other letters to you and to Zac. Letters to be sent … explaining everything. Saying sorry. I wouldn’t have wanted Zac to grow up thinking the worst of me.’

‘Yet you’ve let me do that for nearly two months now?’

Her conscience struck her. She looked up again. Not telling him had been the only thing holding her fragile control together. ‘I did try to tell you a couple of times … it wasn’t the easiest subject to bring up. That day I bumped into you in London was literally my first day back from France. I truly had no idea that hotel was yours.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘It really was fate … circumstance.’

Isandro remembered his towering rage that day, remembered that she had indeed said something about wanting to explain. He remembered the other night, his cruel words, her reaction … but how could he have known this? He could feel himself retreating somewhere inside. That numbness was spreading through him again, and he welcomed it because it was removing him from feeling.

‘I wanted to write you a letter through my solicitor and explain everything before we met, so that you might understand. That’s why I was meeting Mr Fairclough.’

Isandro paced away and then back again. His brain finally seemed to click into gear. Every line in his body was rigid with tension. ‘Why didn’t you tell me when you found out? For God’s sake, I know it was just a marriage of convenience, but you were carrying my child. I would have supported you no matter what. You shouldn’t have had to go through that on your own.’

Rowan turned away from the anger in his voice, the censure. She still had to protect herself. ‘I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d side with the doctors and force me to have the chemo. I can’t explain how I felt … all I know is that Zac’s health and safety were paramount to me. I didn’t want you to feel … obliged to care for me. To feel you had to do the right thing—which could have possibly harmed Zac but given me a better chance.’

She turned back and her eyes were defiant. ‘I made a decision to deal with it on my own. To put Zac first and then deal with it myself.’ Her voice didn’t hold even a thread of self-pity. ‘I’ve always been on my own, Isandro. It’s what I’m used to. And I never … never expected to be here, explaining all of this to you.’ Her voice shook with quiet intensity. ‘I would never have walked away from Zac that day if I had believed there might be a chance … you have to believe me.’

He did. He did believe her. The pain was etched on her face even now. In her eyes. It was the pain he’d glimpsed before. That urge to take her in his arms almost overwhelmed him with its force, but was crushed down by the weight of guilt, heavy and pervasive.

When his investigators had turned up precisely nothing on Rowan’s whereabouts he knew something had happened. This had been compounded by her behaviour since they’d met again in London. Her obvious devotion to Zac, her love for him. He hadn’t mistaken the emotion she’d shown around him those first few days, weeks. When he’d thought it had been an act.

He realised now how overwhelming it must have been for her, her intention to live nearby … he couldn’t ignore the facts any longer. She just wasn’t the person who had left that callous and flippant note.

But what did this mean?

His head reeled. More than reeled. It was spinning off into space with all these facts. He was beginning to feel so many things that he had to keep a lid on his emotions. He took refuge in attack, hating himself because he knew well it was directed at the wrong person, but he was unable to stop. He asked ascerbically, ‘Did you not think I’d support you?’