Hendershot released him, running his hand through his red hair. “You’re not thinking clearly—”
“I disagree. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Putting on his tailcoat, Richard gave his friend one last look before he stepped out of the room.
Passing several ladies and gentlemen in disarray, Richard ignored them all, going in search of Madame Delcour. Hendershot caught up to him at the bottom of the long staircase, matching Richard’s long strides with his own.
Ignoring his friend, he strolled to Madame Delcour’s study where Siegfried stood blocking the door. Richard cursed under his breath, not having time for the other man. He needed to find Victoria; she was the only thing he could think about.
He wouldn’t stop until he found her, until she was his. There was a small part of him that thought perhaps he had finally lost his mind. Surely one night with the goddess would not make him succumb to love.
It was madness. Richard could not help but to compare it to another lady of his acquaintance who had duped him and played him as a fool.
Esther.
“Your Grace, it is good to see you.” Siegfried greeted him with a quick bow of his head.
No time for pleasantries. Richard’s body jerked erratically as he stepped forward. “I’m looking for Victoria. Is she in with Madame Delcour—”
“Victoria?” Hendershot asked in wonderment.
Richard turned his attention to his friend. “Do you know her?”
His friend immediately shook his head, but there was something in his demeanor that had Richard questioning if he was telling the truth or not.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but there is no Victoria here, and Madame Delcour has retired for the evening.”
No Victoria? What in the bloody hell was going on?
“The woman you escorted into the ballroom, her name was Victoria, correct?” Richard asked him, his words rushing out, his head suddenly throbbing with a headache.
Siegfried pierced his lips together scratching at his temple. “No, her name is Sarah, Your Grace.”
Sarah?Now Richard really was confused. She had told him her name was Victoria. Was it all a lie?
Richard felt as if he had been transported back to when he was made a fool of for the sake of his cousin’s amusement. And it was happening again, but this time he really felt the pain.
He never cared for Esther, not really. Richard had enjoyed bedding her, for she was daring and refreshing, but never had she pierced his soul like Victoria had in one single night.
He did not think or say a single word as he turned and allowed his feet to lead him out of Pleasure House. His heart shattered. It had felt different; she had felt different. The connection with Victoria—Sarah—had filled the empty holes of his soul, and he did not know if they ever would be filled again.
* * *
Richard sat in his office waiting, his hands drumming against the large rosewood desk. He had summoned his cousin’s widow three times in the last month only to be ignored by Lady Musgrave.
Richard did not like being ignored. In fact, he absolutely abhorred it. It was why he waited for his late cousin’s wife to arrive at Musgrave House. He had sent his solicitor to retrieve her so that she could spend the remainder of the season under his roof. It was a bold move to be sure, especially with her still in mourning. It would cause a scandal, but he did not care. He needed to be absolutely certain that she was not with child.
Richard’s only concern now was that he was not being made a fool of again. Once was a mistake, twice made him a fool, but three times would make him a complete imbecile.
It had been more than a month since Madame Delcour’s party, and Richard still did not know who he had spent the evening with. He had returned several times to Pleasure House under the pretense of wanting to take part, yet he never did. Every time he was there, he searched for her.
In the last month and a half, he began questioning what really happened between him and his goddess—Victoria, Sarah, whatever her name was. It all had felt so real, so raw, so complete.
After he left Pleasure House that fateful day, Richard felt nothing but emptiness. Burying himself in his parliamentary work and securing houses for Aberdeen’s charity, Richard tried to forget her. It was an impossible task. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw silky blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, and an adorable heart-shaped birthmark on her bottom.
Checking the time, Richard peered out the window impatiently, wanting to get on with the meeting. His late cousin’s wife, Lady Winifred Musgrave, should be well into her pregnancy. Staying with Richard until she was well and round should not be an inconvenience at all. If anyone was being inconvenienced, surely it was Richard and not her.
A knock on the door had him standing abruptly, waiting for his cousin’s widow to enter. Richard would make her stay pleasant. He would do nothing to make her uncomfortable, and most of all he would be a gentleman.
His butler entered the room. “Lady Winifred Musgrave,” he announced.
