“You say you don’t need my help, and yet, you have never come to me for anything else.”

Her hand slid off her hip, and her chin lowered. Contrition? From Diana? She must be here for a large favor indeed. “I know.”

“Then please go.” Everton couldn’t handle Diana Barton right now. He needed time to . . . not think. “You keep barging in at the worst possible moments.”

“But—”

He rubbed his forehead. “No, Diana. Do not come up with some excuse for me to allow you to stay. Today you will not get your way. I’m tired. I need to be alone.”

“But—”

“Why do you never listen to me?” He was finding it harder to breathe. Diana’s eyes were soft with worry, and every time they caught his, Lady Emily’s blasted letter kept repeating itself. Miss Barton is in love with you. “You never leave when I ask you to.” Even when she was gone, she lurked around in his brain, that stubborn chin and the way those copper eyes flashed whenever he asked her to do anything. She was so alive, and he—wasn’t. He envied her optimism. He envied her future, still so full of possibilities. He envied her youth. If only he still had it. His had been used up by the time he turned twenty-six.

“I warn you, Diana, today I should not be trifled with.”

Instead of listening to him, she stepped the rest of the way into his study, strode across the room, and slid some of his papers forward, making room to set both of her hands on his desk. “Today I am here to help you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. The best way she could help would be to take that light of hers away from him. Didn’t she know he could snuff it out in a moment of weakness? He couldn’t bear to see disgust in Diana’s eyes. But still . . . what would it be like? To have someone help him for a change? He leaned toward her, ever so slightly, and then opened his eyes. Her head was tilted to one side, as if she had been examining him, trying to read his thoughts, his desperate, lonely, empty thoughts. Whatever Diana wanted to do to help him, it would be useless. Diana didn’t have the power to change the past.

He leaned back in his chair. He should stand. He was, after all, in the presence of a lady. He was simply too tired to conform to social niceties, and honestly, he didn’t think Diana cared one whit.

“You are here to help me?”

“Yes.” She bent her elbows and brought her face closer to his. Close enough for him to smell fresh paper and ink. “In any way I can. I am aware—”

“Stop saying things like that.”

“Like what?”

There it was again—that innocence that brought her so boldly into his study, completely unaware of the temptation she was to him. His eyes went to her lips. Kissing them again would clear his head. He would have a few seconds of peace before she ran out of the room, disgusted by him.