“I don’t know what a paw de doe is, but I’ve been right here all along.”
“In body, perhaps. Every other part of you exists somewhere I cannot reach. As if no one can reach you. What troubles take you so far away?”
“My troubles are not worth burdening you.”
“But I have been burdened, have I not? I simply do not know with what.”
“What is it you wish to hear?” He paced away, slashing a hand through his combed hair. “That my brother’s death has left a gaping hole in me? That I’m not the surgeon I once glorified myself to be? That any time I hold a scalpel there’s fear of a Harkin repeat?”
“Your brother’s death will stay with us always. There is nothing to be done but grieve and remember him. As for Harkin, what happened was not your fault.”
“He was my patient! Everything that happened to him was a result of me.”
“This God-like complex does not serve you well. Have you stopped to consider that the operation went perfectly and an unrelated event caused his ultimate demise? If you think everything ties back to you, you’re more egotistical than I originally credited you with.”
She’d never witnessed this side of him, and while it terrified her, she saw the pain of an infested wound oozing from him. One he seemed unable to patch himself, and that difficulty most likely hurt him all the more.
“A blow has been delivered, Wynn. Several. Reeling from the shock is to be expected, but you cannot stay that way forever. At some point you need to pick the pieces back up and move on, otherwise it is a life half lived.”
The pleats of his kilt flared as he pivoted on his heel, dark shadows breaking the fall of blue moonlight. “And if this is the life I now choose?”
“I do not believe that. This is the life you’re wallowing in. A pathetic submission that is below your standards. You try to hide your misery, but I see it in the cracks of your smile. The dullness in your eyes where fire once shone. Even your banter has fallen flat of late.”
“No need to kick a man when he’s down,” he mumbled.
“I am not trying to kick you. I am trying to help you.”
“By pointing out everything I’m doing wrong?”
“By pointing out that you do not need to hide. Not from me.” She stepped in front of him. He flinched at her closeness but didn’t move. She took that as encouragement. If the truth was coming out, it might as well be all of it. “When we first met, trust was a nonnegotiable after the things I had been through. I feared for my life every second, jumping at the slightest noises, waiting for the black gloves to seize me in my bed at night. Then I met you. Kind, considerate, and always trying to make me smile all the while I eyed you with suspicion. I fought against it, but you earned my trust, and now I can rest knowing I’m safe. Because of you, Wynn. Will you honor me now with your trust?”
Pain still trembled in his eyes, but his waves of anger stilled. His shoulders sagged as he looked to the floor. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I know, but here we are.”
His gaze flickered up to catch her smile. He raised his hand and drew his thumb across her cheek and along her jaw. “I cannot stand to lose you, not now, but if you truly knew— If you truly knew, I fear you might think less of me. My pride as a man could not handle that, and with that confession you can see how fragile my ego is.” He tried to laugh, but there was no humor to be found in the admission.
“What is pride between us as long as there is trust?” She touched his hand, holding it to her cheek. “I wish to know all of you, as you have seen me. Even the fearful parts.”
He took a deep breath, summoning the words. “In Glasgow—”
“Pardon the intrusion, Your Graces, but the auction is about to begin.” Glasby stood in the doorway, polished shoes reflecting the moonlight. He’d kept to his impeccable white tie and black tails instead of donning a kilt.
Wynn raked another impatient hand through his hair, standing it up like quills. “Stall them. Bring out more wine and whisky if you have to. I need a moment with my wife.”
“I would, sir, but the duchess’s mother has other ideas.”
Dread flooded Svetlana, drowning all concern for what Wynn had been about to say. “What has she done?”
“It’s more what she’s threatening to do.” Glasby’s expression remained professionally bland. A credit in this unusual household. “Princess Ana wishes to make a speech. I believe she has sampled each of the bottles of scotch.”
“We need to stop her before she finds a captive audience.”
Wynn must have realized the state of his hair, for his hands flew to it, attempting to squash it back into a semblance of order. “How much damage can she do?”
“Do you remember that time you had to carry her from the carriage to the church in Paris? That was on one bottle of champagne.”
“I see your point.”