Veronica had never pretended to be anything more than she truly was…a carefully raised young lady, who’d been looking for a husband on the marriage mart. She was familiar with him, since he’d been Justin’s closest friend. He was titled and rich and not difficult on the eyes—if he said so himself. It was no wonder she’d assumed he would be a perfectly fine husband for the type of marriage most of the ton enjoyed. One of shared responsibilities and social obligations. He’d tried to offer her that life again last night. She clearly wasn’t interested.

But he was the one who insisted on trying to make their marriage into something it wasn’t, a true partnership. He was the one who’d put her on a pedestal, tried to make her into something she wasn’t and probably never could be, a loving, trusting wife. He’d hoped for more than a shallow marriage based on family blood lines and dowries changing hands. He’d hoped for something more than what his parents had had. A loveless marriage in which his mother had loved neither his father nor himself. Sebastian had thought he’d found that different type of wife in his best friend’s sister, a girl he’d known since he was young. A girl who had always laughed at his jests and told some excellent ones of her own. A girl who smiled shyly at him when they were young, and who had blossomed into a beautiful, composed young woman who met every criterion to be a perfect duchess. But also (or so he dreamed) would truly love him and be a partner…want him by her side, in her bed at night. And they’d lived in that dream for a short time. A brief time. It had ended when she’d turned on him after one mistake. Turned on him and refused to listen to his side of the story. Veronica wasn’t a loving, trusting wife. She was as cold and heartless as his mother. She was just another woman who never loved him. And he couldn’t blame her. The memory of the night she’d come to his bedchamber in London and asked him to join her here for Christmastide flashed through his mind. Veronica had flinched when he’d said, “You want me to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend that we are still in love?” Proof that she’d never loved him. Clearly, he was…unlovable.

He needed to stop living in a dream. Reality might be harsh, but he’d never been one to shy away from it. He wouldn’t start now. He’d fulfill his end of the bargain by staying ’til Boxing Day. Then Veronica could return to the country for all he cared until the Twelfth Night ball. They could attend the event together, adept at pretending to be happy, and then go their separate ways once more. Neither of them with any more illusions about the other. Exactly the way it had been for the past two years.

And he knew one thing for certain, born of his anger at her note. He would not touch her again. Not unless she initiated it.