She stared back at him as though he’d gone mad. She’d be right, he thought bitterly.
“About what?” she asked, her smooth brow wrinkling. “Your vile temper of late? Which is really saying something, I should add.”
Well, he’d walked into that one. “No, I—”
“Your little act of reciprocity by reconnaissance?” One delicate brow lifted a fraction as her golden eyes pinned him. He had wondered what she thought of his watching over her. And whether she’d mention it. The devil had clearly crept into Jack, for he’d been unable to resist going to her home and making sure she was safe and well. Nor had he moved when he’d seen her coming to the window. Madman that he was, he’d wanted her to see him. Wanted to know what she’d do. Nothing, it seemed.
It did not help matters that Chase had cooled on him. She’d retreated straight back into that thick shell of hers where he meant precisely nothing, and anything he said was met with a bland reply.
“Actually,” he ground out, “I was referring to the other night.” Christ, his collar was strangling him. “Look, Chase, the things I said about you and Lucien, I—”
“Here?” she hissed, her eyes suddenly sparking. “You want to discuss that here? Now?”
“I was simply going to—”
“For pity’s sake,” she snapped. “I used him too!” She took a quelling breath, a slow rise of her breast before letting it go. “I used Lucien to keep others away. I don’t know much of men, and what interaction I’ve had… well”—her slim shoulders lifted—“it has not endeared me to them.” The thick bronze fans of her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes, and she said no more.
Ugly, twisting guilt hit Jack straight in his heart. “I’m sorry. That was all I was going to say.” He’d been jealous. And guilty. A bad combination.
Her wide brow wrinkled. “Sorry?”
“For the way I’ve treated you.” His hands clenched. “It was badly done, and I’ve no excuse.” None that he wanted to give, at any rate. “But there are good men, Chase. One day, you shall…” God, would the floor please open up and swallow him? “… You’ll find one who treats you as you deserve.” He wanted it to be him. So badly his chest hurt.
Chase ducked her head, her lips soft and beguiling. “I know there are good men in the world, Talent.” She looked at him then, looked right into him, and he swore he bled inside. “Such as Ian Ranulf.”
Right.
“When I saw how he treated Daisy, I knew it was time for me to leave Lucien and our false front. I knew it was time for me to search for something more.”
It struck him like a stone: Mary Chase was looking for someone to love. The very idea of her linked to another, of seeing them day in and day out, made him perversely cold. He’d leave London when that happened. Leave bloody Europe.
She looked so forlorn just then. Every word he’d ever said crushed down upon him. Regret was his constant companion, but never more so than now.
“Chase.” He hesitated, then said what he must. “You accused me of thinking you’d be better off dead. I have never believed that. Never.” His chest swelled, rising up as if his whole body protested the very idea. Her wide, stunned gaze crashed over him as he finished his thought. “We are partners now. Should it come down to the choice between my life and yours, I will sacrifice mine. Without question.”
Her lips parted, a shocked circle of pink. “But why?”
“Because yours holds all the promise that mine lost long ago.” And because he’d die anyway should she be lost to this world.
Happiness bloomed over her face, so utterly lovely and glowing that he did not know what to do with himself. She looked at him as if he’d just become her knight with banners flying. As if she was seeing him anew, or perhaps for the first time.
Jack was caught in that look, the net drawing tight around him. His whole body answered, boiling with persistent want. It rushed about him, a violent tumult that set his equilibrium rolling. Words filled his head: Yes, yes, thank God you finally see me. And No, no, I am not what you think. I am not that hero.
He could not speak. He could not move, caught as he was. Before he could stop it, two images of her were before him: a lovely woman in the full blush of health and a crushed and bleeding wretch upon a wet pavement. They crashed over him with brutal force. He almost staggered.
She would not forgive him if she really knew what he and his friends had done.
He could not live with her. He could not live without her. Jack knew he was being selfish, but there it was. And so he drove the wedge in deeper, reminding her of all the reasons she should go on seeing him as just a man. One she’d be better off disliking.