She opened her mouth when his words registered.
Julia rocked back. “You… love me?”
“Was that part of your plan?” he asked bluntly.
There was no hint of warmth or wonder, just an absolute disgust that added another tear to an organ that would never, could never, be repaired.
“Of course not,” she pleaded, turning her palms up in supplication. “I didn’t think someone like you could—”
“Because I’m a cold, cynical nobleman?” he snapped, cutting her off.
“No,” she stammered. “That isn’t what I was saying.” God, she was making a mess of this. Julia sucked in a jagged breath and raised her eyes to his. “I didn’t think someone like you could love someone like me.”
In the end, he didn’t. In the end, in this moment, he looked upon her with the same antipathy and disdain the whole world always turned her way.
Julia caught the flesh of her inside cheek between her teeth.
In fairness, she’d not been truthful with him. She might have told the duchess the truth, but Harris had deserved to hear it from Julia. She knew that now. She’d known it then, too. She’d simply taken the coward’s way and allowed the duchess to take the lead, and there was no forgiving that. Even so, selfish as she was, she didn’t want what they’d shared to end, not like this. Not at all.
Julia made another attempt to explain away something that could never be accepted. “I tried to tell you last night in the Music Room. I wanted to talk to you and then…” Her cheeks warmed.
He continued to stare hard at her, his gaze unrelenting in its coldness. He’d not make this any easier for her. But then, why should he?
Julia took a slow breath. “Then… last night… happened, and I was lost in what we shared, Harris. I didn’t want that to end.”
“What we shared?” he repeated with such acrimony, her chest ached. “What exactly did you share?” he asked in such flat, emotionless tones her heart clenched viciously. “We made love and you?” He scraped a derisive stare over her. “You gave me lies.”
Julia flinched. Lies? “I didn’t lie to you,” she whispered; her voice trembling, she lifted her palms up.
He took a furious step toward her. “While I told you about my wife, and my marriage, and—”
“I shared parts of myself with you, too, Harris,” she implored. “And I didn’t lie. I told the duchess the truth.” Julia had just erroneously assumed his godmother would share that revelation with him. Panic built inside. Was it that you erroneously assumed what you did? Or did you let yourself believe what you wished so you didn’t have to have this very discussion you now are with Harris…? Julia took in a deep, shaky breath, and tried to make him see. “I’m not Adairia, but Adairia was my sister.”
He surged forward. “She was not your sister,” he barked, and Julia recoiled from that vitriolic rage. “She was the duchess’ rightful niece.” He jabbed a finger at the air, punctuating that truth. “And you, madam, are nothing more than a charlatan. A pretender. Just like my dead wife”
Her heart splintered slowly, the break infinite and never ending, the rending continuing with every disgust-coated word that left his lips.
He was correct once more. Julia, however, didn’t know what caused her very soul to ache more, though—the fact that she couldn’t reach Harris in any way, or the fact that he was right.
The fight seemed to go out of Harris. Falling back on his heels, he dusted a hand tiredly over his face.
I’ve done this. I’ve hurt him. I was the one responsible for breaking his trust and… his heart.
“I trust you do not like me much, my lord,” she began softly.
“I shall not tell you what I’m really thinking about you or my feelings on your being here,” he said coolly. “Because if I do, then I’m the one who’ll find myself thrown out on my arse, while you”—he flicked a derisive glance over her person—“will be free to remain.”
He might as well have kicked her in the stomach, so strong was the urge to double over and give in to the pain of his dismissiveness and coldness.
“I have no intention of tattling on you,” she said quietly.
Harris stared at her for a long while. His features a glacial mask as they were, she couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was thinking, and perhaps that was for the best. Because she didn’t really want to have any more of his contempt turned so fully upon her.
Then he whistled slowly through his teeth. “My God, you are good. What were you before this? A Covent Garden actress?” He peered at her. “I thought from the onset that there was something familiar about you.”
“I told you I’m a flower peddler,” she said, searching for a hint of remembrance of that day when they’d met briefly in the street, and he’d saved her life.
“You also told us that you were Lady Adairia, and”—he swiped a hand in her general direction—“look how true that proved to be.”
It had been inevitable.
He’d never trusted her. He certainly wouldn’t now knowing Julia was nothing more than a common street rat.
If she’d understood those sentiments had been inevitable, why did it stab so at her heart?
Leave him to his unfavorable opinion. He was deserving of it. “I am… sorry,” she said, her voice catching. Locking her fingers together, she stared down at the joined digits. “It was not my intention to… lie to you or Her Grace.” She grimaced. “Not at first. It… just… happened.”
“It just happened, Julia?” he echoed, and then he gave his head a disgusted shake.
“What do you want? How can I
