He winced.

“Not that I mind,” she added swiftly. She placed her hand on the side of his face. “In fact, I’m glad we’ve had this time together. I’ve enjoyed every second of it. Especially today.”

“Today?”

“Yes, the last round left me feeling quite…exuberant.”

Despite his misgivings, he found himself smiling down at her. “I feel the same way.”

“I know. I could tell.” She eyed him for a moment. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I confessed my shortcomings. What are yours?”

God, what he would give to be able to answer that question. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

She glanced up at him, curiosity bright in her brown eyes. “You sound almost…sad.”

He was sad. And sorry. He had to move, to get up. He pushed himself to his feet. “Harriet…I’ve done things I’m not proud of. One…one thing in particular.”

She met his gaze solemnly, and to his surprise, there was no condemnation in her expression. “What?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, but no words would come out. All those months of not saying, of not facing the truth, seemed to have melted into him until he could not break free.

She lifted onto her elbows, her gaze never wavering. “Whatever it is that you did, did you make amends?”

“Amends?” He grabbed up his breeches, and yanked them on. “There was no way to make amends for this.”

She sat the rest of the way up and wrapped her arms around her knees. In the indirect light, her brown hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes wide and solemn, she looked like a pixie. “But you tried to fix things?”

He nodded once, hating himself, hating that he was having this conversation with Harriet, of all people. Bloody hell, life was not fair. He found his shirt and yanked it over his head.

She shrugged. “Then that’s all you can do.”

He had just picked up one of his boots. He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you believe that?”

“If you try your best, then no one can ask for more.”

Chase looked at her for a long moment. “I wish I could believe that. And maybe it’s true for other people, but I’m a St. John, born with every conceivable benefit. There are no excuses for my actions.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“I…” The words pushed at him, begging for release. He swallowed, then closed his eyes. “I killed someone.”

Silence. He forced his eyes open, ready to read the condemnation in her eyes.

She met his gaze, her face pale.

“I didn’t mean to,” he gritted out. “I didn’t. I was careening drunkenly through the streets of London in my new carriage. I ran over a woman. She…” He gave a helpless shrug as his eyes grew hot.

Harriet’s eyes were already wet. “Oh, Chase,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. I was with…not a friend. But a person I knew. When the accident happened, I pulled the horses to and started to get out to see if the woman needed assistance. But my companion panicked and began screaming at me to drive on. I was drunk and frightened and…I did.”