“I don’t care that you’re heartbroken.” Sofia shook her head. “I don’t care about your past, and it should never define your future. I know your heart is sad, but if you would have let me…” She smiled through her tears. “…if you would have let me, I would have tried my best every day of my life… to heal it.”
“You have no idea how sorry I am, Sofia… how much I wish I could take it back and tell you the truth from the beginning.”
“Would it have changed anything? Or would you still be running?”
“I don’t run.”
“You do,” Sofia argued. “You’re so afraid you can’t even breathe. It chokes you.” She lowered her head, her body feeling so heavy she thought she might faint. “I would have been your air.” Slowly she reached up and cupped his cheek. “I would have done anything to be with you until the end.”
“What are you saying?” Ash gripped her hands then forced his mouth against hers. His kiss was urgent, desperate.
“I think that should be obvious.” Sofia lowered her head. “I’m saying goodbye…”
“If you return to your country, you’ll die.”
“Then I die…” Sofia sobbed. “…but at least I won’t be running. I’ve seen what running does… I refuse to give in to the temptation to be weak when I have the opportunity to be brave.”
“You need a husband.”
“So marry me and let me live my life in peace.” Sofia hated the words as they left her mouth. “It would suit you best. After all, you’re the great Grimm Reaper… you need nothing, you love nothing, you desire… nothing.”
With each word she spoke, Ash flinched.
But he didn’t deny it.
And maybe that was the worst part… he denied nothing; he simply accepted his fate as if he had no choice in the matter. When given the chance to fight for something that mattered, he stood motionless while Sofia was forced to make the choice she’d rather die than make.
“Sofia—”
“Leave me.” Hot tears streamed down her face. “Just… leave me.”
Ash nodded and stepped out of the room. When she’d needed him to deny her most… he’d given in.
She slumped into a nearby chair and hung her head in her hands, giving in to the soft sobs as they wracked her body.
The door clicked open again. She wiped her tears. “Ash, I need a moment.”
“Do you address every gentleman so familiar?” came the smooth voice, a tinge of a Russian accent claiming each word.
Dread spread throughout Sofia’s body as she slowly lifted her head. “P-Peter?”
“Tears?” he spat. “Is that the way to greet your betrothed?”
“You are not my betrothed! I’m to be married to an English gentleman, and, when I do marry him, I’m going to have you hung!”
Peter threw back his head and laughed.
How she had ever found him attractive was a mystery. His features were too sharp, his hair too long and dark.
He pulled out a pistol and clicked the hammer. “I think not, Princess. Now, keep quiet. We’re going for a little… trip.”
“No.”
He lowered the gun. “Fine.”
Sofia’s head jerked up just as his hand flew across the air in front of her. Something heavy hit the back of her head, and utter blackness enveloped her line of vision.
The last thought she had was of Ash.
If she could see him but once more, she’d tell him she loved him until her voice was hoarse and make it impossible for him to leave.
But he was gone.
And she was going to die.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The thing about falling for someone is you can’t plan it, and the minute you realize what has taken place, it’s impossible to stop the destruction and pain that lay in its wake, when you do the one unforgiveable thing — like walk away. —The Grimm Reaper
ASH’S EARS RANG WITH her words, “I love you.” Over and over again, she’d repeated it as if he was deaf and unable to hear, and the horrible part? The first time she’d said it, he thought his ears were playing tricks on him; he’d needed it a second and third time.
But by the fourth, he wasn’t able to deny the reality. Better she hate him, better she despise him, than love him and lose him, because he would be lost. It was as if the bullet lodged in his chest was trying to remind him he had less and less time in this world. The pain was so severe he had to stop and lean against the wall. Perspiration fell from his forehead onto his jacket.
His vision blurred for a brief moment. Was he losing consciousness? And then his face was wet — right below his eyes. Tears. He was crying.
The great Grimm Reaper, assassin of London, was crying.
Over a woman.
The last time he’d cried over a female, the tears had tasted bitter, for she hadn’t been his to cry over. But now? The tears were real, tangible, salty… and filled with regret. Had he been a better person, had he been a better assassin, the bullet would not have found its way into his chest, and she would be his.
She had said as much.
His past didn’t matter.
Could it be true that she saw him for the man he really was? The man that he had buried so long ago — she had pulled free of his chains, only to have Ash lock him back up again.
“Ash!” A voice yelled for him.
He jerked his head up to see Cornelius bent over in front of him, heaving from exertion. “Ash, the witch is here. She’s here!”
“Witch?” Ash repeated, his mind clouded by confusion. “Speak plainly, man!”
The rest of the Royal Guard tumbled toward Ash, pushing people out of the way. Well, at least the engagement was old news now that the Russians were pushing members of the ton into the punch bowls.
Samson’s face was white as a sheet. “She is here!”
“Who is she?” Ash demanded in a commanding tone.
“She will kill her…” Gerald shook his head. “We tried to follow her, but she lives in the shadows. If he is with her, then there is no hope. No hope at all.”
“She…” Ash’s mind worked quickly. “Sofia’s stepmother, Esmerelda is here?”
All of their heads nodded solemnly.
Dunlin’s shoulders slumped. “We have failed.”
“No,” Benedict said in a quiet voice. “They are still at the ball. They would have had to leave through at least three of the entrances I’ve been watching. They are still present.”