“You know she means nothing. It’s you I love.”

He could explain, but she would not understand his need for wild, unrestrained fucking, just as she had not understood Sinclair’s demands. She was too slight of frame, and genteel in sensibility, to enjoy such fervency. It was his respect for her which led him to seek such release elsewhere.

“Oh, Gray.” She sighed, her fingers curling into the hairs at his nape. “Sometimes I think you truly believe that. But perhaps you love me as much as a man like you is able.”

“Never doubt it,” he said ardently. “I love you more than anything, Em. I always have.” Taking a moment to divest her of the cape, he tossed it aside and carried her to the waiting bed.

As he undressed her with quiet efficiency, he seethed inside. Emily was supposed to have been his bride, but he had gone away on his Grand Tour, and returned to find his childhood love married. She said her heart had been broken when he left, and rumors of his affairs had reached her ears. She had reminded him that he had never written, which led her to believe he had forgotten her.

Gerard knew his mother had helped to plant the seeds of doubt, and then had watered them daily. Emily had not been worthy in the dowager’s eyes. She had wanted him to marry a bride of higher station, so he would do the opposite, to thwart her and pay her in kind.

If only Em had held on to her faith a little while longer, they could have been wed now. This could have been her bed, one she did not have to leave before the sun rose.

Naked, her pale skin glowing like ivory in the candlelight, Emily took his breath away, as she always had. He had loved her as long as he could remember. She was so beautiful. Not in the way Pel was. Pel had an earthy, carnal sensuality. Em was a different kind of beautiful, more fragile and understated. They were as opposite as a rose was to a daisy.