His Suitable Bride(66)

‘I can and I will.’ Isandro was icy and controlled. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in ruthlessly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d forgotten till today that it was a boy you had, you left so fast.’

Rowan’s mouth closed, and the pain that lanced through her was raw and overwhelming. Her voice sounded thready to her ears. ‘I … Of course I knew he was a boy. I’ve thought of nothing else but him every day since—’

Isandro took two quick strides and gripped Rowan’s arm painfully. ‘Enough!’

She took a sharp breath to disguise the pain. This was far worse than she had anticipated. She couldn’t afford to forget that this man wielded a power that was on a par with the world’s most prominent politicians. Would telling him what had really happened make him see … make him understand? She’d hoped it would, with the cushion of distance between them. The lingering rawness made her feel as though a layer of skin had been stripped from her body. The truth would lay her bare completely, but right now, having met her son when she’d truly believed she’d never see him again, shock was making her reckless.

‘Isandro. Please, I can tell you what happened. Maybe then you’ll understand—’

He cut her off harshly. ‘Understand? Understand?’

His face was so close that she could see the fine lines spreading from the corners of his eyes, could see his skin, golden and taut over those high cheekbones. She held herself rigid, would not give in to her body’s demand to allow herself to really acknowledge what his proximity was doing to her. How could she when he was looking at her with such unbridled hatred, making her feel confused and inarticulate?

Scorn dripped from every syllable of his every word. ‘I know what happened. You left a note … remember? There is not one thing, not one word, not one lame story you could dream up to excuse what you did that day. You took away an innocent baby’s most important source of nourishment and love. Security. There is no one and nothing on the planet that could absolve you of that crime. You gave up your right to be a mother to him when you walked away, just hours after he was born.’

And you gave up the right to be my wife …

The words, unspoken, hung heavy in the air.

Rowan’s inarticulate explanation died on her lips. His stark, cruel words resounded in her head. For a short, blissfully deceptive moment she felt no reaction to them, was numbed, and then like poison-tipped arrows they joined with the ever-present debilitating guilt and sank deep, deep into her heart, robbing her of words, of any explanation she might give.

He was right. She couldn’t say a word. Not right now anyway. How could she expect him to understand that which she had barely come to terms with herself? That which she’d only just very painfully started to forgive herself for? She had walked away from her own newborn baby. Had she really thought that telling him her reasons might absolve her? She didn’t deserve that.

Her control was close to breaking, but she knew she couldn’t afford to crumble now. She had to face the consequences of her actions, not seek absolution. She dredged up some much needed strength and pulled away from his iron grip jerkily.

Isandro watched her dispassionately. She backed away farther, her hand going to rub her arm where he had gripped it. His anger was cooling to a contained icy rage. She turned away for a moment, offering him her back, and his eyes flicked down. In her smart suit and high-necked blouse he could see for the first time that she was slimmer than she had been. The short jacket and straight skirt didn’t hide much. Desire burned low and insistent in his belly, even though everything in him rebelled at his unwanted response. She’d always been slim, but there was an unmistakable fragility to the lines of her body now that hadn’t been there before.

He hated to think it, and quashed it almost immediately, but was there also a vulnerability? Her Titian hair had been long before, down her back, but now it was much shorter, exposing the line of her elegant neck. She still had that quintessential upper class deportment that couldn’t be faked. She’d been his access into a world notoriously hard to break into for outsiders: the upper echelons of the English banking system, an ancient and tightly guarded group of the super-wealthy elite.

With what had been an extremely uncharacteristic failing to read another person, she had been the first person ever he’d so badly misjudged. Monumentally. Catastrophically.

She turned around to face him again and her eyes were flashing, taking him by surprise. But then his resolve hardened. This was the real woman he had married. But unaccountably, even as he thought that, his eye was involuntarily drawn to the crest of her breasts, pushing against the fine silk of the blouse. He felt his body tighten even more in response to their fullness, felt sensual tension flooding his veins. His reaction was so unwarranted that it momentarily stunned him. And then she spoke, cutting through the haze in his brain. He told himself it had to be shock.