The Knight(32)

Joanna muttered a curse he’d never heard from her lips before. “I don’t need to ask which one. Constance has so many stars in her eyes where you are concerned, it probably didn’t take much effort on your part to wile it out of her.”

In the past he would have teased her that Constance wasn’t the only one, but he sensed the jest would not be welcome. He also sensed that it was no longer true. Joanna had always looked at him as if he were some kind of hero out of a bard’s tale. As if he could slay dragons, hang the moon, and out-duel Lancelot all at the same time. But she wasn’t looking at him that way now. The clear blue eyes stared at him with not a hint of starriness.

He’d hurt her far more than he realized and the knowledge weighed on him like a stone on his chest.

Though her gaze was no more welcoming than before, he took a few strides toward her until they were standing only a few feet apart. “I’m sorry, mo ghrá. I’m sorry for everything. The baby. God, the baby.” His voice broke. “I didn’t know. I should have been there with you. I would have been, if you’d told me.”

His words had no effect. She stared up at him, unmoved and seemingly uninterested. “Why would I do that? It was over.”

“I didn’t mean that. I was angry. You were forcing me to choose between you and my duty, and I reacted. Badly, I admit. But damn it, Jo, you had to know I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

He’d taken her arm without realizing it and tried to bring her closer to him, but she was as rigid as a pole of steel.

She turned her head away. “It makes no difference now.”

His heart picked up the beat, speeding to a frantic race. She was acting like she hated him. But that wasn’t possible. This was Jo—his Jo—she loved him. “Of course it makes a difference,” he said softly. “We need to talk about this, if we are going to get past it.”

“Get past it?” She stared at him and then did something so unexpected it shook him to the core. She burst into laughter. “Dear God, do you actually think you can tell me it’s over, leave for three months while I mourn the child you would have had the world call a bastard, and then come back as if nothing has changed? Everything has changed, James. I do not blame you for what happened any more than I blame myself. It was an accident. But it is done, and nothing can be done to change it back. You are too late. Whatever chance we might have had died along with our unborn child.”

He heard the words, but he didn’t want to hear what she was saying. He couldn’t be too late.

Despite the warmth of the day, his skin felt like ice. A shiver ran down his spine. He had to make her see reason. “You are overwrought—angry—God knows, you have every right to be. But don’t say something you don’t mean. You love me, Jo, and I love you. We will get through this together.”

She shook her head. “There is no ‘together,’ James. You and I were never meant to be, I see that now. You will always be an important part of my past, but that is where you will remain.”

“But damn it, Jo, you love me.”

“I did. Very much. Too much, as it turned out, for it did not allow me to see what was right in front of me. You and I wanted different things.”

James felt as if flames were roaring in his ears, in his chest, scorching like wildfire. “You don’t mean that.”

But she did. He could see it in her eyes. He’d killed the love she’d had for him as surely as if he’d stuck a dagger through her heart.

“You should go, James. You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you. You belong with me back in Douglas.”

The sad smile on her face said otherwise. “I thought so, too. But we were both wrong. I belong where I will be happy, and right now that is here.”

His eyes narrowed, the suspicion he’d been trying to keep at bay pushing its way forward front and center. “Why are you here, Jo? Does it have something to do with Lindsay?” He took her by the arm, gazing at her with all the intensity burning inside him. “If he has touched you, I’ll kill him.”

She wrenched her arm out of his hold, the first spark of emotion blaring in her brilliant blue eyes. Too bad it was anger. “How dare you make threats and disparage a man who has been nothing but kind to me! Sir David is a friend—that is all. Not that it is any of your business. You lost any voice in the subject the day you told me it was over.”

“Damn it, Jo, I didn’t mean that.”

As suddenly as it had sparked, her anger was tamped out. In its place was sadness and resolve. Who the hell was this calm, self-possessed woman? What happened to the effervescent girl who only had to smile at him to make the day brighter? His heart tugged, and then grew too tight.