She didn’t answer. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself. The room was chilly, but he knew that more than the temperature made her shiver. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your life, Cam.”

“What rot.”

Her face was wan. “And I’m sorry I betrayed you. At least let me tell you why I did it.”

His slashing gesture dismissed explanations. “I know exactly why.” His voice deepened with the certainty that had struck him, vilely late, when she’d flung herself between Harry and Leath. “You did it out of love. You’ve done everything out of love.”

Shock jolted Pen from self-flagellation. “But you don’t believe in love.”

“I believe in you,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand.” His avowal didn’t soften her attitude. “Not long ago, you hated me.”

He sighed and moved across to lean against the wall, hoping it held his weight. The whole building looked likely to collapse. A bit the way his pride was about to collapse around his ears. “I was angry.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“And I was hurt,” he said with more difficulty.

They were both aware what that confession cost him. From earliest boyhood, he’d done his best to deny his emotions. He had much to blame his parents for, not least the painful gossip about his bastardy. But only in the last hour had he realized that their worst crime against him was the way they’d made him mistrust his deepest feelings.

Pen didn’t speak and Cam realized that to win what he wanted, he had to lay his soul out before her. “All my life I’ve kept people at a distance.”

“I know.”

“I can’t keep you at a distance.”

“That’s desire,” she said flatly. “Once you stop wanting me, you’ll put me back into my place.”

Her voice betrayed how he’d hurt her. Good God, what a selfish swine he was. “Your place is at my side.”

She drifted toward the filthy window, staring outside, although the glass was so dirty he couldn’t imagine she saw much. “You didn’t think that last night.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Stop using my temper as an excuse to run away.” He was unaccustomed to apologizing. The words emerged awkwardly. “I’m sorry for my tantrum. You’re the only woman in creation who turns me into a lunatic.”

She didn’t turn. “Surely that’s reason to separate.”

He stepped forward. His voice resonated with urgency. “Damn it, Pen, surely that’s reason for you to stay and finish the job of making me human.”

She bent her head, staring down at where her hands flattened on the grubby windowsill. Her upswept black hair seemed too heavy for her fragile neck.

He wanted to bundle her into his arms and promise to be her knight, the man who would keep the monsters away. But again, that niggle of instinct insisted that if he pushed her, she’d walk out. So far, at least she listened. He was an expert on the impermeable doors against emotion. He didn’t want to give Pen a chance to shut hers.

“You’re human,” she whispered.

“Only with you.”

When she faced him, she looked angry. “Why are you saying these things? You don’t mean them.” Her voice lashed like a whip. “Lying won’t change anything.”

“I’m not lying,” he said helplessly. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“What do you want, Cam?” She folded her arms and her tone was uncompromising. The frailty had vanished. She looked like the fierce goddess who had defied the world on his behalf at Lady Frencham’s.

He hadn’t deserved her praise then, but he’d been damned glad to hear it. The memory fortified his resolve. She’d taken risks for him. He’d take risks for her. She was worth it. She was worth it even if he failed ignominiously.

He rubbed his jaw. “Once I thought I knew.”

“Don’t toy with me.”

She’d dragged him into this, kicking and screaming. If he wanted to dawdle over the last few yards before tumbling over the cliff, he would. “I wanted a wife who acted with dignity and decorum, a wife who couldn’t even spell ‘scandal.’ ”

“You wanted a pretty little doll to decorate your playpen,” she said sourly.

“An exaggeration, but only a slight one.” He linked his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. That cliff edge loomed closer and closer. “Instead I got a difficult, pigheaded termagant.”

“Then you should be glad that she’s leaving.”

He smiled. He liked this tougher version of Pen. “Oh, no.”

“No?” she asked on a rising note. At last she stepped forward.

The instincts that guided him through this impossible maze insisted that if she bridged the distance, he’d win. If he pursued, she’d run.

He was a man who seized what he wanted. Playing the cool game nearly killed him. “Because while she’s undoubtedly endless trouble, not to mention inclined to rebel against her lord and master—”

As he’d expected, that prompted a withering glance. To his relief, she was no longer the distraught, lost creature desperate to escape at all costs.

His tone wouldn’t disgrace one of Genevieve’s scholarly lectures. “—she also turns my nights to fire and makes me feel alive every minute of every day.”

Something happened behind her obsidian eyes. He just wished to God he knew what it was. Her lips firmed. Those soft, pink lips he’d kissed until he was drunk with the taste of her. “So you want me in your bed. That means nothing. You’ve wanted me in your bed since we met in Italy.”

He smiled. “I think it means a great deal. So do you. And if we’re being accurate, I’ve wanted you since my first proposal.”

Shock chased away what little color she’d regained. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It’s true. Hell, it scared the living daylights out of me. I proposed because we were friends and you understood my horror of messy emotions, not because you drove me mad with desire.” She still struggled to respond. “As you did. As you do.”

“Desire isn’t enough.” Beneath the chilly tone, he caught piercing regret.

“No, it’s not. It matters. But it’s not everything.”

“Because it’s not everything, I can never be what you want.”

“How easily you give up, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What else should I call you? You’re my duchess and my wife.”

“Much as you wish otherwise.”

By all that was holy, she was a tough opponent. While he’d learned to respect her strength, he’d never before realized how adamant she could be.

He poised on the cliff edge and stared at the sharp rocks below. Vertigo sent his belly on a sickening dip. If he jumped, odds were he wouldn’t survive.

“You asked me what I want,” he said slowly.

She stiffened as though bracing for a challenge. She wasn’t nearly as composed as she struggled to appear. Her voice trembled. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He resisted the need to touch her. “The strange thing is that I’ve known for years, even if I only just acknowledged it.”

She sighed. “You speak in riddles.”

“Cowards often do. And I am a coward. I’ve recognized that too.”

Inevitably the time had arrived when he must jump. He prayed that he’d live to tell the tale. He expected his voice to shake, but his words rang with conviction.

He launched himself into space. “I know what I want, Pen. I want you to love me.”

Since she was eight years old, Pen had imagined Cam asking for her love.

Except this scene wasn’t quite right. In her fantasy, the words were different. I love you, Pen. I will always love you.

Although she saw what it had cost Cam to speak, his demand didn’t inspire her to declare eternal devotion. Instead, it made her feel tired, as though a great weight pressed down on her.

In the last six months, she’d lost a brother and a beloved aunt. Once or twice, she’d nearly died herself. She’d shouldered Harry’s troubles. She’d struggled to cope with becoming a duchess when she’d never aspired to the title. She’d always wanted Cam. She’d never wanted to be the Duchess of Sedgemoor.

Most crushing of all, she’d denied everything she knew to be true and married Cam.

Whatever physical pleasure she’d enjoyed, her soul had starved since their marriage. She had a grim feeling that her soul would continue to starve, even if she confessed her love, even if he trusted her again, even if he forgave her for this latest scandal.

“Did you hear me?” His expression was wary, almost like he expected her to throw herself out the window.

Pen realized that she must stare at him as if he spoke a foreign language. She supposed that when Cam spoke of love, that was true. “I did.”

He stepped toward her. When she backed away, his face contracted with anguish. “You’ve got nothing to say?”

She bit her lip. He was so handsome, especially now when his self-sufficient air crumbled to nothing. She couldn’t doubt that he’d changed in the last weeks. The problem was that he hadn’t changed enough. She came to realize that he never would.

“You can’t make someone love you,” she said dully. If she’d learned one truth, it was that.

His jaw firmed. “I can try.”

“There’s no point. Just let me go.”

The slashing black brows lowered. “Do you want to leave me?”

She’d fled to Europe to escape Camden Rothermere. Right now, she wished she’d stayed there. “Yes.”

He slumped back onto the flimsy bed and stared blindly ahead. “Have I done so much damage?”

Her stupid, stubborn heart wanted to reassure him. But hard experience had taught her that every step in his direction meant another step deeper into pain. “No, I have.”

He didn’t look at her. “I know I acted the complete ass about Harry, but, hell, Pen, I’ve acted the complete ass before and you’ve forgiven me.”