Free Never Forget Me by Marguerite Kaye Page B

will not allow it to be the making of us?’
    He had not allowed himself to consider it until now, any more than he had allowed himself to consider her feelings might run every bit as deep as his. One step, and he could take her in his arms. Just one step. The temptation was shockingly, terrifyingly, strong. Dear God, but he really was in over his head.
    Appalled, Geraint picked up his belt and tightened it viciously. ‘No, I won’t,’ he said brusquely. ‘It would be the most selfish thing I could do. It would never work.’
    ‘Why must you always harp on about the differences in our station?’ She jumped to her feet and began to shake out her mackintosh furiously. ‘I am sick to death of our friendship being a source of shame to you!’
    He could never tell her that his shame had nothing at all to do with class. His horrible, loathsome, cowardly little secret accounted for that. He took her mackintosh from her and helped her into it. ‘As it is, it will be hard enough for both of us when I leave here,’ he said, pulling her back against him, wrapping his arms around her. The unmistakable scent of female arousal overlaid her usual perfume, made his blood thicken. He let her go reluctantly. ‘Think how much harder it would be if we allowed ourselves to care more deeply, Flora. Think how much more difficult it would be to get through every day, living in fear of what will happen. I might be killed. If I don’t die, it’s possible I’ll be maimed. I won’t be a burden. I wouldn’t do that to you. I can’t.’
    ‘Do I have no say in the matter?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘Why not?’ she asked.
    He couldn’t tell her. Not the definitive reason. He simply could not. ‘You just don’t,’ Geraint said. ‘Trust me, it’s for the best.’
    Flora fastened up her coat, tucking her hair into the collar. ‘I love you, you know. I didn’t know it until today, but I do.’ She dashed a hand across her eyes, digging her knuckles into them painfully.
    He had not thought he could feel worse. For the tiniest moment, Geraint felt the most utter elation, which made the guilt-fuelled plummet back down to earth an agony. She loved him. She could not, must not love him. ‘Flora...’
    She shrugged herself free when he caught her to him. ‘Please don’t tell me again how impossible it is. You’ve made yourself very clear. I know it makes no difference. I told you—I told you because it seemed wrong not to. I am sorry, I should not have said anything.’
    She waited, looking at him expectantly, her blue-grey eyes glittering with unshed tears, but he could think of nothing to say. She loved him. Those most perfect of words and most dreadful. They tore him in two. As she turned away from him, out of the bothy and into the dusk, Geraint forced himself to hold his ground, not to go after her. He had done more than enough damage already. No more.
    * * *
    It started to rain as Flora made her way back to the Lodge, not inconsequential drizzle, but thick, no-nonsense drops that were wetter than should be possible. Clutching her mackintosh around her, she stumbled along the well-known path, too numb to cry.
    Geraint had said nothing because there was nothing more to say. Her declaration had been the final nail in the coffin, as far as he was concerned. At least she had not embarrassed herself by begging. He wanted her, she had no doubt about that, despite her relative lack of experience, but he did not want her love.
    ‘And I do love him,’ she whispered, coming to a halt at the place where they had kissed earlier. ‘I love him so much.’
    It had crept up on her so stealthily she had hardly been aware of it. She had been so caught up in the wholly new experience of falling from attraction to desire to love that she had not realised she’d fallen until it was too late, and she had not been able to admit it to herself until it was too late, either. Too late to retreat. Too late for it to make any difference. He did not love her.