“After everything I went through escaping Russia and being forced to secrecy for fear of my life, I fought against allowing anyone to see my vulnerabilities ever again. Even you. Until you convinced me you were trustworthy. You became my one true north as the rest of the world spun on an axis of chaos.” She pressed her lips tightly together, gathering the strength to defend against the anguish in her soul. “You have broken that trust.”
Pain twisted his face as if she’d struck him. “Let me earn it back.”
“I don’t know if you can.”
“Have you never made a mistake? Or have you been so cold for so long that you’ve frozen out what it means to be human?”
It was her turn to feel struck. The accusation she’d heard too many times to count, but never from him. And that made the sting all the sharper. “That’s right. The Russian princess is cold and heartless. At least that way I can avoid disappointments.”
“Disappointments are a part of life, like the one between us now. I’m sorry for what I’ve broken between us, but I swear to you, I will prove I am a man deserving of your trust.”
His arms reached to circle around her. Oh, how she wanted them to. She wanted to end the struggle and find peace together again, but her need for self-preservation tightened, choking off any means of acquiescence as her body stiffened at his touch.
“Lana, don’t cut yourself off from me.”
She brushed past him toward the door connecting their chambers. “‘Lana’ belonged to a dream that disappeared somewhere between the stars of last night and the cold dawn of today.”
“So that’s it? Something breaks and you toss it onto the rubbish heap because it’s no longer good enough for you?” The dejection in his voice pleaded after her, begging her not to cut the fragile threads binding them together.
Svetlana blinked back the threat of tears and twisted the doorknob. She’d allowed her pragmatism to be clouded by hope. If betrayal was all hope offered in the end, she was better off without the burden. “Better alone than trusting a man who doesn’t keep his word.”
Sweeping into her room, she closed the door behind her as the first tear fell. Followed by another and still more. The weeping of her heart slipped down her cheeks as silence enveloped her in its lonely embrace.
Chapter 28
Brooding. That was a good if not accurate word for Wynn’s current state. He’d never considered himself a moody man, rather enjoying jokes and laughter too much to spiral into sulking solitude. Standing on the wide hill behind Thornhill with a cloak of descending night above him and the sweep of wind from the moors below, he had no need of jests, so brooding it was.
It was no better than he deserved. A liar and deceiver. Not to mention possible murderer and utmost fool. How did he ever manipulate himself into thinking that not telling Svetlana was for the best? Because he was a fool, that’s how. He never should have allowed his desire to take her to his bed to overcome his duty to tell her the truth. But then she’d kissed him and begged him for one night together and he’d been helpless to stop himself.
He flicked his thumb across the pierced kopek he always carried and paced across the grass. The dead stalks crunched under his boots. He had a fine mind to grind them to dust beneath his heel. The memory of that precious night, of holding her in his arms in the ways he’d only dreamed of, was now tainted by the crushing weight of his lie. Four days she had shunned him after he tried again and again to see her, even speaking through her closed door. She answered him in silence and avoidance. He had only himself to blame.
“I knew I’d find you up here. At your spot.” His mother crested the hill and stood next to him. She’d ditched her customary scarf and diaphanous gowns and instead opted for sturdy boots and Father’s thick plaid drawn around her shoulders. “You’ve always come here to think.”
“It’s peaceful.”
She nodded, looking down the hill to Glentyre, nestled among the fading shadows of the rises beyond. “What has you troubled to seek peace?”
“Nothing too concerning.” More lies. “Hospital duties.”
“Duties you’d rather attend to than the ducal ones.” Mother held up her hand. “Ah, don’t give me that look. I know perfectly well which you prefer.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m trying.”
“I know you are, but being duke wasn’t the path for you. You were always meant to be a great surgeon.”
His gut twisted. If only she knew. “It seems that path is now lost to me.”