Triumph lit her eyes as though she’d landed the winning blow. “You used my sister, then abandoned her to disgrace. When she told you she carried your child, you mocked her with foul details of the other women you’d despoiled.”
He felt sick. “Does that sound like something I’d do?”
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She stood trembling behind the chair, hands digging into the leather back. “I don’t know you well enough to say.”
“Yes, you do.” His attention remained unwavering. “So you think that having ruined your half-sister, I ruined you too?”
He couldn’t mistake her shame. “Of course.”
Like an acid tide, rancor rose. “Well, at least I didn’t boast of prior conquests.”
“I found the letters before you could,” she said stubbornly.
He wanted to seize those slender shoulders and shake sense into her. He wanted to fold her in his arms and soothe away her wretchedness. “Ah, the letters.”
“They prove Dorothy’s accusations.” Her tone sliced like razors. “They prove I’m your dupe.”
Impatiently he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “They prove someone using my name ruined your sister and those other women.”
Her eyes flashed. “I can’t blame you for trying to play me for an idiot. After all, even knowing what I did, I fell into your bed.”
He cast her an annoyed glance. “Doesn’t that strike you as significant?”
Her hands clenched against the leather. “Don’t taunt me.”
He stepped closer. “Eleanor, my uncle seduced those women under my name. I’ve been trying to compensate his victims. I had those letters because I was afraid that they’d fall into the wrong hands and be misinterpreted.” He sighed again. “And that’s just what happened.”
She snarled and backed away. “A likely story. Far more believable that my half-sister accused her betrayer as she died. There’s only one name in those letters, my lord. One man receiving blackmail demands.”
Defeat’s cold breath chilled his neck. She sounded so immovable. “Eleanor…”
She made a slashing gesture with one hand. “I told you not to call me that.”
He loved her strength so much, even when she turned it against him. “What shall I call you? My darling, my sweetheart, my lover?”
“Your victim,” she bit out, but she poised quivering a few feet away and he knew she listened.
“I could swear that everything you believe is false, but it’s only words,” he said slowly. He drew himself to his full height and faced her the way he’d face a hanging. “Remember everything you know about me. Remember what we shared. Remember, damn it, that I haven’t looked at another woman since I met you. Then tell me I’m the philanderer you describe.”
Something that looked like fear crossed her face and she faltered back. “You’re such a liar.”
Feeling like he set his heart out for her to stamp upon, he remained where he was. “I’ve never lied to you.” He paused. “While you’ve lied from the beginning.”
Her color had long since faded. She looked as pale as the wraith his superstitious servants had once thought her. “I won’t listen. You twist everything.”
He willed her to relent. “Yet even believing what you did, you shared my bed.”
“Because I’m a fool.”
“Because in your heart you know I didn’t seduce your sister.”
“I need to follow my head, not my heart.”
Recognizing this as his last chance, he spread his hands in appeal. He had no confidence that he’d prevail. “Think, Eleanor, think. Think of everything you know about me, and tell me that I could commit these crimes. Tell me that you could give yourself to such a man.”
She regarded him with glassy eyes, myriad expressions flickering across her face. Some he could read. Rage and disgust, certainly. Shame. Guilt. Determination.