She spun on her heel, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve no intention of rehashing this tired subject again. If you only wish to argue, I’ll leave. We’ve both said all we have to say on that matter, I believe.”

“Wait.”

She froze. Still facing away from him, she closed her eyes briefly and thanked the heavens he’d stopped her because she didn’t know how she’d get him to agree to come with her if she left now. She shouldn’t have threatened to leave. But she hadn’t been able to countenance arguing with him again about Melissa.

Letting her hand fall from the door handle, Veronica turned slowly back toward him. Her features were carefully blank.

Sebastian had an equally inscrutable look on his face. “I agree,” he replied, in an even tone. “We have said all that needs saying to each other. But tell me, why haven’t you told your grandfather…about us?”

Veronica turned her face to the side, trying not to remember the night they’d had mind-numbing sex on the chair just to her right, and the fact that even now—even when she couldn’t stand the sight of him—she wanted to do it again. She couldn’t help her body’s response to seeing him half nude. She was only human, after all. The man was…regrettably…gorgeous.

She cleared her throat and kept her gaze averted. “His health has been poor. Mama thought it best if we…didn’t burden Grandfather with such…unhappy news.” There. That was true.

“So, your grandfather does not know we’ve been estranged?” Sebastian shook his head, a humorless smile quirking up the side of his lips.

“That is correct.” She couldn’t help herself. She let her glance slide over his body again and plucked at the neck of her pelisse. Why was it so infernally hot in here? She forced herself to look away once more.

“That’s why you’re here?” Sebastian said, clearly piecing together her entire predicament as a wide grin spread across his lips. “You want me to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend that we are still in love.”

“No.” The word shot from her mouth like a ball from a pistol. He’d guessed correctly, of course, but his words had slashed across her heart. One word in particular: ‘still.’ He was taunting her. She had been in love with him, madly so, but he…he had never loved her. He’d merely used her as a means to an end, a titled lady with good manners from an impeccable family to take as a wife and bear his heirs. He had never let his emotions into their marriage. He’d never intended to. But she would die before she gave him the satisfaction. And she refused to allow him to pretend he had loved her back.

But her response had been far too quick. She needed to regain control of the conversation. She straightened her shoulders and forced a half-hearted smile to her lips. “I want you to come with me to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend that we are happily married,” she clarified.