“Then marry her,” Penelope implored.
He shook his head. “If I marry her…God, I'd hurt her in more ways than you could imagine.”
“Bloody hell!” James burst out. “Stop being so damned afraid. You're afraid of loving, you're afraid of living. The only bloody thing you're not afraid of is death. I'll give you one night. One night only.”
Blake narrowed his eyes. “For what?”
“To make up your mind. But I promise you this: I will marry Caroline if you don't. So ask yourself if you'll be able to bear that for a lifetime.”
James turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
“He's not making an idle threat,” Penelope said. “He's quite fond of her.”
“I know that,” Blake snapped.
Penelope gave him a brief nod, then walked to the door. “I'll leave you to your thoughts.”
That, Blake thought bitterly, was the last thing he wanted.
Chapter 20
bal-cy-on (adjective). Calm, quiet, peaceful, undisturbed.
I shan't look back upon these as halcyon days.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
Caroline was sitting on the sandy portion of the beach, gazing up at the sky. Just as Blake had pointed out, it was cloudy, so all she could see was the pale, blurry glow of the moon. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and huddled against the cool breeze, her shoes lying next to her.
“It doesn't matter,” she told herself, wiggling her toes in the coarse sand. “It just doesn't matter.”
“What doesn't matter?”
Her head jerked up. Blake.
“How did you get here without my hearing you?”
He motioned behind him. “There is another path about fifty yards back.”
“Oh. Well, if you have come to check up on me, you'll see that I am perfectly fine, and you can go back to the house.”
“Caroline.” He cleared his throat. “There are a few things I need to tell you.”
She looked away. “You don't owe me any explanations.”
He sat down beside her, unconsciously adopting the same position. He rested his chin on his knees and said, “There were reasons I swore never to marry.”
“I don't want to hear it.”
“Nonetheless, I need to say it.”
She didn't say anything, so he continued. “When Marabelle died…” His voice caught.
“You don't have to do this,” she said quickly. “Please.”
He ignored her. “When she died, I thought—I felt—God, it's so hard to put into words.” He exhaled, a world of heartbreak in that rush of air. “I was dead inside. That's the only way to describe it.”
Caroline swallowed, barely able to resist the impulse to offer him the comfort of her hand on his arm.
“I can't be what you need.”
“I know,” she said bitterly. “I can't compete with a dead woman, after all.”
He flinched at her words. “I swore I'd never marry. I—”
“I never asked that of you. I may have—Never mind.”
“You may have what?”
Caroline just shook her head, unwilling to tell him that she may have wished for it. “Please continue,” she said in a distracted voice.
He nodded, although it was clear that he was still curious about what she'd almost said. “I always told myself that I could not marry out of respect for Marabelle, that I didn't want to be disloyal to her memory. And I think I really believed it. But tonight I realized that was no longer true.”
She turned to face him, a thousand questions in her eyes.
“Marabelle's dead,” he said in a hollow voice. “And I know that. I can't bring her back. I never thought I could. It's just…”
“It's just what, Blake?” she prompted in a low, urgent voice. “Please tell me. Make me understand.”
“I felt I couldn't fail her in death as I had in life.”
“Oh, Blake. You've never failed anyone.” She touched his arm. “Someday you'll have to realize that.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I've always known that, deep down. She was so headstrong. I couldn't have stopped her.”
“Then why are you so determined to be unhappy?”
“It isn't about Marabelle any longer. It's me.”
“I don't understand.”
“Somewhere along the way I lost something inside. I don't know whether it was the grief or the bitterness, but I just stopped caring.”
“That's not true. I know you better than you think.”
“Caroline, I feel nothing!” he burst out. “Nothing deep and meaningful, at least. Don't you see that I'm dead inside?”
She shook her head. “Don't say that. It's not true.”
He grasped her shoulder with startling urgency. “It is true. And you deserve more than I can give you.”
She stared at his hand. “You don't know what you're saying,” she whispered.
“The hell I don't.” He wrenched himself away from her and stood, his posture bleak as he stared at the surf. After a moment of silence he said, “James has said he will marry you.”
“I see.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
She let out an impatient exhale. “What do you want me to say, Blake? Tell me, and I'll say it. But I don't know what you want. I don't even know what I want anymore.” She buried her face in her knees. That was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted, and he was standing next to her, telling her to marry another man.
She wasn't surprised, but she hadn't expected it to hurt so much.