Modern Romance February Books 5-8. Jane Porter

      She pushed him away. If he touched her she would be lost, but he was taking her hand again, wrapping his fingers around hers, and she was leaning into him, closing her eyes against the tears.

      ‘I don’t want your pity.’

      ‘Pity? I don’t pity you.’

      He lifted her chin and, looking into his fierce, narrowed gaze, she knew that he was telling the truth.

      ‘I’m in awe of you.’

      She bit her lip, stunned by his words. Four years ago she’d thought that hearing the truth would give him a bulletproof reason to walk away, and yet he was here, holding her close, his heartbeat beating in time to hers.

      ‘I should have told you the truth before. But I thought you’d get bored with me before then.’

      He shook his head, clearly baffled. ‘Bored! Yeah, you’re right—I can understand why you thought that might happen.’ When she didn’t respond, he frowned. ‘Seriously?’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you know how smitten I was?’

      Her heart gave a thump; her eyes slid away from his. ‘It was all so quick…and I guess you weren’t really my type.’

      His eyes looked directly into hers. ‘You had a type?’

      ‘Yes—no. I just meant the other men I dated weren’t like you.’

      Her cheeks felt hot. How could she explain his beauty, his aloofness, the compelling polished charm of a man born to achieve?

      ‘They were scruffy guys I met in bars. You didn’t even look at the bill before you paid it.’

      The faint flush of colour on her cheeks as much as her words did something to soothe her remark about him not being her type, but he was still trying to understand why she thought he would have got bored with her.

      There was a drawn-out silence. Teddie could feel the curiosity behind his gaze, but it was hard to shape her thoughts, much less articulate them out loud.

      ‘It wasn’t about you really—it was me. Even before we got married I felt like an imposter. And then when I moved into the apartment I panicked. It felt like when I was child, with my dad. I just couldn’t seem to hold you—you were so focused on work.’

      ‘Too focused.’

      He breathed out unsteadily, knowing now how difficult it would have been for her to admit how vulnerable she was—how difficult it must still be.

      ‘You’re an incredible person, Teddie, and your father was a fool not to see that. You deserved better than him.’

      He brushed his lips against her forehead, the gentleness of his touch making her melt inside.

      ‘You deserved better than me.’

      Reaching up, she rested the back of her hand against the rough stubble of his cheek and his arm tightened around her.

      ‘I never meant to hurt you,’ he said. ‘I just wanted it to be different with you.’

      ‘Different from what?’ she asked.

      He frowned. It was the first time he’d ever spoken those words out loud. The first time he’d really acknowledged his half-realised thoughts to himself.

      ‘From what I imagined, I suppose.’

      She glanced down into the pool and then back up to his face, her expression suddenly intent. ‘What did you imagine?’

      He hesitated, his pulse accelerating, but then he remembered her quiet courage in revealing her own painful memories and suddenly it was easier to speak. ‘My parents’ marriage.’

      Her green eyes were clear and gentle. ‘I thought you said it was civilised?’

      His mouth twisted. ‘The divorce was civilised—mainly because they had nothing to do with it. But the marriage was positively toxic. Even as a child I knew my mother was deeply unsatisfied with my father, their friends, her home…’

      He paused, and she felt the muscles in his arm tremble.

      ‘And me,’ he said.

      Teddie swallowed. She felt as though she was sitting on quicksand. Aristo sounded so certain, but that couldn’t be true. No mother would feel that way. But she knew that if she was upset George always worried that he’d done something wrong…

      ‘She might have been unhappy, but I’m sure that didn’t have anything to do with you. You’re her son.’

      He flexed his shoulders, as though trying to shift some weight, and then, turning, he gave her a small, tight smile. ‘She has two sons, but she prefers the other one. The one who doesn’t remind her of her mediocre first husband.’

      Her hand fluttered against his face and she started to protest again, but he grabbed her fingers, stilling them.

      ‘When I was five she moved out and took an apartment in the city. She left me behind. She said she needed space, but she’d already met Peter by then.’

      Catching sight of Teddie’s stunned expression, Aristo felt his throat tighten. But he had told her he was going to be honest, and that meant telling even the most painful truths.

      ‘It’s fine. I’m fine with it.’ He stared down at the water and frowned. ‘Well, maybe I’m not. I don’t know any more.’

      Teddie stared at him uncertainly. Her own mother had been hopeless, but she had never doubted her love—just her competence.

      ‘But she must be so proud of you—of everything you’ve achieved. You’ve worked so hard.’

      His profile was taut. He was still like a statue. ‘Yes, I work. Unlike my half-brother, Oliver, who has a title and an estate. Not that it’s his fault,’ he added. ‘It’s just that her feelings were more obvious after he was born.’

      His voice was matter-of-fact, but she could hear the hurt and her chest squeezed against the ache of misery lodged beneath her heart.

      ‘But you like him?’ she said quickly, trying to find something positive.

      He shrugged. ‘I don’t really know him. He’s seven years younger than me, and I was sent to boarding school when he was born. I guess I was jealous of him, of how much love my mother gave him. I’ve spent most of my life trying to earn that love.’

      Her fingers gripped his so hard that it hurt, and he smiled stiffly.

      ‘She left my father because she thought he wasn’t good enough, and I guess I thought all women were like her—always wanting more, wanting the best possible version of life.’

      ‘I never wanted that,’ she said quietly.

      The crickets were growing quieter now as the evening air cooled.

      ‘I know. I know that now,’ he corrected himself. ‘But back then I suppose I was always waiting for you to leave me. When I came back from that trip after we argued about you giving up work, and you’d gone to see Elliot, I overreacted. I convinced myself that you were lying. That you didn’t just want space.’

      He could still remember how it had felt—that feeling of the connection between them starting to fade, like a radio station or mobile phone signal going out of range so that there would be periods when they seemed to skip whole segments of time and conversation. He’d been terrified, but it hadn’t been only the sudden shifting insubstantiality of their relationship that had scared him, but the feeling that he was powerless to stop it.

      ‘I did just want space.’ She looked at him anxiously. ‘I wasn’t leaving you.’

      ‘I know.’ He pressed her hands between his. ‘I’m to blame here. I was so convinced that you’d do what my mother did, and so desperate not to become my father, only I ended up creating the perfect conditions to make both those