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overtake his less savory aspects. She had reached for a match based on affection, for all the hopes and dreams that a thousand fairy tales and novels had instilled in her. If she left now, longing and regret would remain her only friends, her only lover.
    â€œI can’t,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
    Rhys stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
    She shook her head. “It would be easier for you if I didn’t love you.”
    His cheek twitched, and a flicker of something darkened his gaze. “It is a foolish inclination, Anne. Ours is an arranged marriage, made by our parents when we were still children. I’ve never pretended any more or less. But if I somehow misled you—”
    She interrupted him with a laugh that held no humor. “No. You have never made me think you loved me. When we were younger, you could be friendly. When my mother died, you were sympathetic, even kind when you thought your father wasn’t looking. And sometimes over the years I caught you watching me…but you always looked away, and I knew I was only putting my own hopes into your face.”
    He winced, as if what she said hurt him, but he didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if he was quiet to allow her to speak or if she had simply struck him dumb with her confession.
    â€œThe heart feels what it feels, Rhys,” she whispered. “And mine has loved you since I was a child, almost as long as I can remember.”
    Rhys’s eyes squeezed shut and his mouth twisted. “Please don’t say these things.”
    â€œWhy?” she asked, her dull tone not reflective of how much it hurt when he was tearing her heart outwith his cold dismissal of everything she had ever felt for him. “Because you never allow such emotions to touch you? Because you shun love as much as you do anger and pain? Because something has now happened to make you feel those things and it—”
    â€œNo!” He grabbed for her, catching her upper arms in a powerful grip. She stared up into his face, wild with desperation and all the things she had accused him of avoiding. “Because I can’t , damn you. You don’t understand, but I’m trying to protect you.”
    She shrugged away, pushing from his arms. “You always say that, as if you somehow know best. But you don’t. What you don’t understand is that I don’t want your protection, Rhys. I want something far deeper, far more meaningful than that.”
    He stared at her, unspeaking for close to a full minute. Then he turned on his heel and left the cottage. Left her. Again.

Chapter 5
    R hys crouched down on the beach, letting the sand push between his naked toes as angry waves crept toward him, moving closer with each crash. He wished he was capable of expressing his own anger with such loud clarity.
    Because Rhys was angry, and he was angry with Anne. Why did she have to love him? More to the point, why the hell had she felt compelled to confess her feelings? His entire life was already ravaged. He had gone from understanding what he was and what his future would hold to having nothing but uncertainty all around him.
    In the midst of that confusion, in the middle of this hell, the last thing he wanted was Anne’s love. That kind of emotion was too powerful. Too dangerous. He just wanted to pack it away, along with every other feeling he could no longer control. He didn’t need these things.
    â€œHello.”
    Rhys stiffened at the sound of Anne’s voice, soft behind him. It had been nearly an hour since he stormed from the house and he thought perhaps she finally understood he wanted peace. Apparently not.
    Slowly he straightened up and turned to find her standing at the base of the path, her slippers and stockings in hand. She had rebound her hair, but it was looser now, not as impeccably coiffed as it normally was. He supposed that made sense. There was no servant here to fuss over her, so