That brief missive had struck her like a hard slap, leaving her confused and angry. Why hadn’t he sent the box to the younger, exquisite mistress he’d replaced her with? She could still see the pity, and worse, disgust in his eyes when he’d looked at her imperfect hands the last time she’d seen him, when he’d rejected her touch and attempts to seduce him. Two days later, he’d abruptly ended their arrangement, without even the courage or the decency to tell her to her face. Instead he’d sent a curt note, along with a parting monetary gift. As if money could soothe the hurt and pain and humiliation.

Even now, a year after he’d discarded her, a part of her still couldn’t quite believe that he’d been so unfeeling. So unkind. He’d told her he loved her. And she’d loved him-perhaps not at first, but soon after they’d met. At the beginning of what had turned into a decade-long affair, she’d merely been pitifully grateful to have found a way out of the desperate situation in which she’d found herself. She hadn’t wanted to become a mistress, but given the alternatives, or lack thereof, Richard’s offer had been nothing short of a miracle. When she’d agreed to be his mistress, all she’d known was that he was wealthy, attractive and that he desired her-enough to save her from the nightmare her existence had become-and that was enough. She soon realized, much to her relief, that he was also kind. Generous. Intelligent. A progressive thinker who cared about the plight and sufferings of those less fortunate than himself and who hoped to bring changes to the laws to help the poor. She’d fallen in love with his character, his mind, his goodness. But his cold dismissal of her had shown her a side of him she’d never known existed, one that had made her feel like a fool.