“This time it will be different.”
Her heart leaped. Was it possible that he was starting to feel the same way about her as she felt about him?
Candace was almost afraid to ask. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he must hear it, sitting so close to her. “How will it be different?”
She tensed, wired, every nerve ending expectant as she waited for his answer.
One finger trailed down her cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “This time I will have a lover.”
So he hadn’t said he loved her. But lover was good, wasn’t it? Candace wavered. No, she decided, she wanted more; she needed him to tell her he loved her. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, “But how will this be different? Jilly was your lover, too.”
The teasing finger stilled. “I never made love to Jilly.”
Was he saying that he’d only had sex with his dead wife, that he’d never loved her? Did that mean he loved her, Candace?
“I know you didn’t love her.”
“I didn’t love her, nor did I make love to her.”
“What do you mean…?” Voice trailing away, she waited. Was Nick saying something else altogether…something she could hardly believe was true?
“You’ve seen my bedroom. It was mine alone. Jilly had her own suite, her own bed. I never shared it. We never slept together.” His mouth compressed at her incredulous look. “There was no sex. Not for seven long years.”
“You once told me there were no other women—” Candace broke off unable to finish.
“That’s right.”
My God.
No wonder he’d been so…desperate. Now he was telling her that he expected their marriage to have sex. Yet he’d never said he loved her.
Stupid! He wasn’t marrying her because he loved her. He was marrying her to gain Jennie a set of biological parents—a set of parents who loved their daughter and would make it clear to any court.
Nick was making the same mistake of going into a loveless marriage with the best intentions for the wrong reasons all over again. Except this time, instead of saving Bertha and Henry, he was trying to save Jennie. And this time sex would be part of the deal.
The pain below her heart grew more intense.
Nick Valentine deserved to find a woman he could really love. For all his life. Candace wished that woman were her. But it wouldn’t be her. Even though he was the father of her baby…and the man she loved.
Nick would never be hers.
Shaking her head, she said slowly, “I’m sorry Nick, I can’t marry you.”
Not even for Jennie.
Nick had retreated to the sanctuary of his study, where he’d poured himself one measure of single-malt Scotch, then collapsed onto the burgundy love seat.
He’d been so certain she would say yes.
If Candace married him, it would’ve been a tidy solution, and Jennie would’ve been safe. He couldn’t fathom why she’d refused the most sensible course of action under the circumstances.
There’d been flashes of time over the past few days when he could’ve sworn she desired him almost as much as he craved her. It had been there in the way her gaze flicked to him, then quickly away, in the soft flush of color that followed, in the slight stutter she developed when he stood too close.
But she’d turned him down flat.
Well, he supposed it served him right for being so sure of her.
He raised the heavy crystal glass to his lips and took a sip, savoring the smoky flavor.
It wasn’t over yet. Nick was determined to escalate that reciprocal passion he’d sensed in her. He was convinced he could change her no to a yes.
He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He’d have to move fast if he wanted a marriage to thwart the thorn in his side that Desmond had become. He had to move now.
If he wanted to keep Candace.
Thirteen
Nick had rarely entered Jilly’s suite of rooms during their marriage.
Now as he crossed the threshold he noticed that it smelled…empty…like a hotel room long deserted. The curtains were drawn, dimming the room. He flicked the light switch, picked up a remote and activated it. The curtains opened and sunlight filtered in through the lacy blinds beneath.
The bedcover in Jilly’s signature gray and white and lime lay smooth and uncreased. Two crystal perfume bottles stood on the dresser, and a Lalique vase stuffed with silk tulips occupied a writing desk beside the windows.
Feeling like an intruder, Nick crossed to where a dressing room opened off Jilly’s en suite. Her clothes had already been packed up and given to charity. The wall safe was empty. Nick had placed Jilly’s jewels in a bank deposit box in trust for Jennie, the day after the funeral.