What had they discussed for so long?
Terms? Apologies? Reparations?
Or—
No. She would not presume.
But since he was here—whatever happened afterward—she could at least take this chance to ease her conscience.
“I am sorry.” She met his eye seriously. “I’m so very sorry that I lied to you.”
She could not tell if what she was seeing in him was acceptance. He didn’t look angry…
“Whydidyou come to Ironwood Manor, Rosamund?”
She exhaled.
“My father died last year,” she said quietly. “In his will, he left each of us a task. One we were required to complete in order to receive our inheritance.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“It was important,” she continued. “Not merely the funds. The independence. The freedom to choose our own futures.”
“And your task was to write.”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “Something meaningful. And to publish it under my own name.”
“So that portion was not entirely false,” he murmured.
She shook her head faintly. “Not entirely.”
He took a step closer to her, then another. Slow, careful. “Why me?” he asked.
Her breath trembled, but she held his gaze.
“Don’t you know? I have…” she whispered. “I have… been in love with you for most of my life. You were my—” She hesitated, embarrassed by the word. “—hero.”
He very slightly dipped his chin, still studying her. But something in his expression had softened.
“The second I read my task, I knew what I wanted to do. The rumors about you had already been circling for a while by then, and I knew they were wrong. I wanted to set it right.” She drew in a steady breath. “I lied to you about who I was in the hopes that you would not turn me away—as you surely would have—and I regret that my deception hurt you, along with many other things about the way I went about this whole venture, but… I do not regret that any of it happened, because… I simply cannot.”
A low, quiet sound escaped him. His hand lifted, almost unconsciously, to cradle her cheek. “I do not regret it either.”
But as she leaned into his palm, he tilted his head and dropped his hand. “You did not publish it under your own name. That was one of your father’s stipulations, was it not?”
“When I took it to my printer, he insisted the article would carry more weight under Robert’s byline. An established writer. A man.” Sherolled her eyes but then lifted her chin slightly. “It was vital that the right people read it.”
“And your inheritance?”
She gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “I suppose I’ve forfeited that. Unless I publish something else before the deadline, which might be difficult, considering…”
He leaned closer now, so near she could feel the warmth of his breath.
“You forfeited your inheritance… for me?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. Yes. She had. And she didn’t regret it.
She straightened her back. “Why are you here, Julian?”