His tone was too nice, too sweet for my mood. I turned my head away from him. It might be childish, but conversation with him was the furthest from what I wanted.
“I’m sorry that dinner went poorly.”
“No, you aren’t. Don’t you get it? You win. No one likes Clodwick, and they adore you.” Another hiccup rattled my body. “You’ll get your wish, and we’ll be married. We’ll live miserably-ever-after.” Hiccup.
Rowan didn’t speak for a long moment. He was no doubt preparing his gloating victory speech.
“That’s not what I want,” he said, his words impossibly soft like velvet on my skin.
The humility in his voice sent my head whirling to face him. It was too late to hide my blotchy face, streaked with tears from him. His eyes penetrated mine, his gaze almost . . . tender.
My body was still now . . . my hiccups were gone. Indeed, I could hardly breathe.
“Arabella.” His hand reached toward my face, but I pulled back.
“I’m not yours to touch. Not yet anyway.” I might as well have struck him, for pain seemed to lance across his face.
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Like an old habit, I fought hard against the sincerity in his voice, refusing to believe him. “Is that why you had the paintings returned? Why did you throw salt over your shoulder? Because you were sorry?”
He dipped his head. “I admit, I wanted to draw attention to Clodwick’s absurdities to make myself look more appealing. It was juvenile and wrong.” He met my gaze. “I’ve been a fool where you’ve been concerned. Truly, Arabella. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t want to forgive him, not after the years of hurt I harbored, but I felt my own anger finally slipping. “Is it so wrong to want to choose for myself who I marry? Shouldn’t I have the right to select the man who will dictate the rest of my life?”
His brow puckered. “It’s not wrong to desire that. And no man should have the right to dictate the rest of your life. You should be free to choose.”
I frowned, wiping moisture from my cheek. What was he saying?
“I release you, Arabella. From whatever contract we had, unspoken or otherwise, I will not marry you.” His brown eyes, vulnerable and imploring, darkened and his mouth tightened.
“Why?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
His head turned to face the wall in front of us, and I could no longer attempt to decipher his feelings painted so clearly in his eyes.
“Like you said, it’s only right for you to choose.”
“It is?” I shook my head. “I mean, of course it is.”
He dropped his chin. “I am sorry that my presence here has caused you pain.”
I swallowed, my throat now completely clear of the emotion that had been choking me only moments ago. Was this really happening? Was Rowan really giving up his suit? It was a miracle. I was truly indebted to him.
“Thank you, Rowan. You have given me the greatest gift I could ask for.”
He stole a glance at me. “Yes, well, living miserably-ever-after doesn’t sound particularly enticing.”
I chuckled, surprised by his answer. “No, it doesn’t.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he sighed. “It won’t be easy to tell your father.”
“I don’t envy that task.”
“He’s been a good friend to me over the years—like a second father. But his love for you is primary, and I know he will understand, eventually.”
I hadn’t realized that severing our relationship would mean doing the same for him and Papa. That did not sit well with me, but I was too grateful for my freedom to say otherwise. “If there is anything I can do to help smooth the way between you and my father, please let me know.”
He shook his head. “You had better concentrate on smoothing the way for you and Clodwick. I don’t mean to criticize your preference for a husband, but he does have some social tendencies that your father will be wary of.”