“And be honest, please. We’ve been friends far too long for lies, even well-meaning ones,” Perdita said.
Alex stroked her gloved hands along the sleek, muscled neck of her gelding before she spoke.
“Sometimes it’s hard to breathe. I think about him and—”
She looked up as she spoke, and to her shock she saw Ambrose and Lord Darlington riding down the path toward her and Perdita. The two men had noticed them and pulled their horses to a stop as if trying to decide whether they should continue or turn back.
“Perdita, let’s go,” Alex snapped, but it was too late. The gentlemen had made the decision to come their way and were riding hastily in their direction.
Alex went rigid, jerking her horse to a hard stop. There was no way to escape this. Ambrose reached them first, his horse nuzzling hers. The affection between the beasts made the phantom pain inside her surge back to life. She wanted no friendliness, no intimacy, not even between their horses.
“Lady Alexandra,” Ambrose greeted, his voice low and respectful. She suspected that he was trying to be soothing, but she was not a mare that needed gentling.
She only answered with a stiff nod. That was all he was entitled to and nothing more.
“Lady Alexandra,” Darlington greeted. “Miss Darby.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Darlington,” Perdita said, then frowned when she saw Ambrose and merely nodded at him.
“Alex,” Ambrose said, then ducked his head, shaking it, and tried again. “Lady Alexandra, could I have a moment to—”
“No.”
“But—”
She didn’t give him another chance. She pulled her horse away, and in a frantic, completely unladylike way, she battled her horse. She bolted her mount away from the group and rode briskly back the way she’d come. She wanted to glance over her shoulder, make sure she wasn’t being followed, but she didn’t want to give Ambrose the satisfaction of knowing she cared.
“Alex?” An entirely different male voice cut through her panicked thoughts.
She blinked and glanced around. Her heart leapt into her throat. She saw Marshall astride a fine black gelding. He looked the part of a leisurely gentleman with his well-tailored clothes and his immaculately folded cravat, but he didn’t elicit anything in her except sorrow for the innocent young woman she had once been. The fool who thought falling in love was romantic and wonderful.
“Marshall, who is this?” The sharp feminine voice intruded on Alex’s memories.
Alex saw a petite woman with a sour face riding sidesaddle on a rather plump brown horse. The woman was glaring at Marshall, and then she turned that glare on Alex.
“Well? Who is she?” the woman demanded.
“She’s…” Marshall’s face reddened slightly as he struggled for words.
“I’m no one important,” Alex replied stiffly, her chin raised as she backed her horse up yet again. What else could go wrong today? She’d run into the last two men in all of England she’d ever wanted to see. At this point, she simply couldn’t find it in her to care anymore.
“Wait…Alex? This is Lady Alexandra that you…” The woman was not staring at her curiously anymore, but there was no mistaking the mean glint in the woman’s eyes.
Alex snapped. “That he had an understanding with? Yes. He threw me over to marry you for your money. Is that what you wish to hear, Mrs. Clifford?” Her voice was terribly shrill, but she couldn’t shake the anger that this woman and Marshall had provoked in her.
Other people riding in Hyde Park nearby were now watching them, including Ambrose, Darlington, and Perdita.
“Well!” Mrs. Clifford scoffed, her cheeks flushing. It was obvious she had nothing to say to that. So she changed tactics. “It’s good then that he threw you over. I hear you’re quite the trollop, spending nights in Viscount Darlington’s townhouse but in bed with Mr. Worthing, a known rakehell.” Hilary smiled cruelly as she announced this loudly enough for the growing crowd to hear.
Alex stared at the other woman for several long seconds, feeling each beat of her heart racing a dozen times between each second. It took her a moment to compose herself.
“Mrs. Clifford, I’m no more trollop than you. As to my ruination at Darlington’s house, well, that was orchestrated by none other than a man named Gerald Langley, your brother, I believe. You might ask yourself why he went to such trouble to demean my character and reputation.”
“What does she mean by that, Marshall?” Hilary demanded sharply.
Alex didn’t wait a second longer to escape. She urged her horse into a quick canter, escaping the gasping, shocked crowd. By the time she reached the townhouse, she was unable to stop the tears. She tossed her reins at the stunned groom who met her by the mews before she raced inside the townhouse and fled to her room.
She flung herself on her bed and buried her face in her pillow, doing her best to quiet the heaving sobs that escaped. It was a long while later when she finally had cried hard enough that she couldn’t shed any more tears and her throat was aching.
