“Don’t flatter yourself, madam.” His disgusted tone scalded the air between us. “I don’t give a damn about your noble blood.”

Of course not. Priest Farrell wasn’t motivated by power or money. His pursuits were carnal, drawn from the irrational, volatile, dark well of lust beneath his skin.

To be a recipient of such an all-consuming desire was every woman’s dream. I’d lived that fantasy for a year, ignorantly, unknowingly sharing him with another.

I would’ve welcomed the thrust of a blade in my chest over the insufferable pain that crushed me from the inside out. If I could only let this go.

But I had let it go. At least, I’d been working on it quite successfully before tonight.

“Are you still together?” I shouldn’t have cared. Caring prevented me from moving on.

“No.” He glared at the crumpled letter in his fist. “That night in Nassau was the last time we made contact.”

He was telling the truth, the agony in his voice undeniable.

I wanted to delight in his suffering and mock him with cruel laughter. But I felt his pain too deeply. I empathized with every bitter breath, self-destructive thought, and excruciatingly lonely night he’d endured.

Because I loved him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t feel so scared and hurt. I wouldn’t feel so compelled to lace my hand with his, pull him to me, and comfort him in his sadness.

Gripping the edge of the chair, I stopped myself from reaching out.

“It was a mistake.” He stepped to the wall of windows behind me and stared out at the black sea. “The affair we had behind your back, the terrible pain I caused you… I regret it deeply.”

“Your regret doesn’t begin to compare to how I feel about our marriage.”

His jaw flexed, and he shoved open a pane of glass, letting in the warm breeze.

“There’s no one else, Bennett.” He ripped up the letter and flung the pieces out the window. “I haven’t been with anyone since I woke in an empty bed beside this cowardly note.”

“You expect me to believe that you—a shameless rakehell much given to wenching, consorting with widows, and bilking maidens of their virtues—have been celibate for two years?” I gaped at him. “Because your lover left you?”

“I’ve been celibate for two years because my wife left me.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not.”

His responses confused me, which was probably his intent. What had I been thinking, bringing this woman-eating shark aboard my ship?