‘We must get you back to your brother’s house so you can get ready for the ball tonight. Fallon’s isn’t it? I am expected there, as well.’ He stood up, gathering his clothing and throwing it in a heap on the bed.
‘The ball?’ He could hear the awareness dawning in her voice, and the pause after the two words as she tried to find the right response. ‘I thought we might go to Scotland.’
That had been his plan, as well. But if he truly loved her, he must admit that it was just as Julian had said to him. He was nothing more than an obstacle between her and the future she deserved. He had tried for a year to improve his character. But what he’d done to her today proved that he was still as awful as the day he’d met her.
She needed to be rid of him. The sooner the better.
‘Scotland,’ he repeated. ‘I thought so too, once.’ He could not look at her, so he busied himself with pouring water in the basin and going to retrieve her petticoat. ‘But you refused me. Three times, in fact.’
‘I did, then. But…’
He did not dare meet her eyes. If he did, he would give in and spoil the best chance she had to go forward with a man far better than himself. ‘Come on, now. Have a wash, so we can get you dressed. You likely have some blood on your legs.’
The last was uncalled for, and the cruelest thing he’d ever said. But it got her moving and gave him a chance to pull on his breeches, so he did not feel quite so vulnerable. He had been unclothed in front of countless women, but he’d never felt so naked before, as if he had no defenses at all.
Once she had cleaned herself, he dropped her shift over her head and did up her stays. There was little he could do with her hair other than tie a bonnet. ‘If I were you, I would not remove it until you have called your maid to set things right,’ he said.
She glared at him in response. It was far less than he deserved. But at least she harbored no more illusions about his nature. It was the best outcome he could manage, given the circumstances.
‘My carriage is waiting, just outside.’ He checked his watch. ‘It will have you home with time enough to dine and dress, so you can go out again.’ He paused, for this was the hardest. ‘I would not recommend that we speak with each other tonight. We would not want anyone to guess what we have done.’
‘That you bedded me?’ She’d been sharp with him before. But she had never sounded as cold as this. ‘No. I certainly would not want anyone to suspect that.’
He gave her a satisfied sigh and ushered her to the door. ‘I am glad we understand each other.’
‘We do,’ she said. ‘Perfectly.’ Then, she stepped through the door and slammed it shut.
Chapter Seventeen
She had been an idiot.
Julian had warned her to stay away from Westbridge. She had suspected from the first that those offers of marriage were hiding a darker motive. And yet, she had thrown all common sense aside and lain with him, assuming the day would end with an elopement. She deserved to be punished, for both wickedness and stupidity.
Last night, she’d been ready to tell Julian of her love for his friend. Thank God she had not. It would have made today even more complicated, when she had to announce that she’d been mistaken. The man was vile and she wanted nothing more to do with him.
At least, that’s what she should have said, if she had any sense. If forced to speak of Sebastian tonight, it was far more likely that she would burst into tears and demand to know what she had done to make him turn away from her. When they’d gone into the bedroom, she had been sure that he loved her as much as she did him. But something had changed. She did not want to believe that it had been the thrill of the chase that had held his interest. Now that she was…
She bit her lip. She was not soiled, or spoiled, or any of the other horrible terms that people whispered about girls who said yes instead of no. She was still herself. A little wiser, perhaps,but not so different than she’d been this morning. If she did not fall pregnant, no one need ever know what had happened.
And if she did?
The thought hit her like a cold draft, making her shiver. Portia would know immediately who she had been with. Julian would find out. And when he learned that Sebastian had refused to marry her. There would be hell to pay. Even worse, she’d have to go back to the country and explain to her parents that, in the glamour of a London Season, she had rejected all of their teachings and turned out just like her mother.
She could not let any of that happen. If there was a child, she would not let it be cast aside and raised by strangers, as she had been. She would find a man to marry and no one would be the wiser.
But it would not be Sebastian Morehead. She would rather die than go crawling back to him after the way he’d treated her. And if he thought she would succumb to his charms a second time, he was touched in the head. In the future, she would treat him as she had at her ball, with the same distant courtesy she’d give to a stranger. Because that was what he was: a man she did not really know at all.
She arrived home with more than enough time to have a light supper before dressing for the ball. But before she could hurry up the stairs to her room, Portia stopped her in the front hall, touching her arm.
She flinched. And in that moment, Cassie knew that she’d given it all away.
Portia stared at her, reading her guilt as if it was written in inch-high letters on her face. When she finally spoke, there was no confusion in her voice, just warning. ‘Your maid said that you were in your room, napping away a megrim.’
‘I decided to take a walk to clear my head.’ The response was plausible. But it was a lie and they both knew it.
‘I will have a light supper, sent to your room,’ Portia said. ‘You have plenty of time to compose yourself before we leave.’ The duchess released her arm and gave her a worried smile and the faintest tip of her head to urge her up the stairs.
She did as she was told, hurried to her room and rang for her maid. Then, she stared into the mirror, searching her face for any signs of change. There must be something, for Portia had known immediately. Something in her eyes, perhaps. The flush in her cheeks. Or was it just that, no matter how she felt now, a little while ago she had been truly happy?
