Suddenly, her door swept open.
She spun, heart pounding with disbelief, to find Sandhurststriding inside as if he belonged there. He slammed the door behind him,eliciting a wince from her. She tried not to notice what a handsome figure hecut in his evening tails, tall and debonair and lean. Drat him, she was drawnto him as ever, the longing she felt for him elemental and undeniable even asshe wanted to rush at him and pummel his broad chest.
“Maggie,” he began in that familiar velvety drawl of his,“this can all be explained.”
She crossed her arms in a show of defiance and pinned himwith a glare. “Do not call me that. Only my family and friends are permitted torefer to me thusly.”
He stopped halfway across the room, his eyes searching hers.“I’m sorry.”
She let loose a bitter laugh. “Sorry for what? Sorry thatyou were caught out? Sorry that you lied to me? Sorry that you pretended to besomeone other than the husband who has abandoned me for the past year?”
He flinched. “I suppose I deserve your scorn.”
“You suppose?” The man’s temerity knew no bounds. “What youactually deserve is a punch directly to your supercilious face, not scorn. Youshould consider yourself fortunate that I am not a violent woman.”
“I’m sure I deserve all that and far worse. But would youcare to listen to me, or are you going to continue your aimless railing againstme?”
“I hate you,” she said, unable to contain herself even asshe knew she was acting more as if she were a young girl in short skirts ratherthan a woman grown. “You may as well remove your mask. I know exactly who youare, much to my shame.”
He tore it away, tossing it to the floor. For a moment, herbreath caught, for she had forgotten precisely how gorgeous he was. He wastruly a fine-looking man, with his dark hair, rigid jaw, aristocratic nose andsculpted lips. But his looks hid a cold and devious soul.
“I didn’t know it was you,” he growled, effectively ruiningthe moment. “You were wearing a bloody mask.”
She wasn’t moved by his protestations of innocence. “I don’tbelieve you.”
“We haven’t seen one another in some time, Maggie.” Hestrode toward her, cutting the distance between them in half. “You didn’trecognize me, either.”
“I told you not to call me that.” She was determined to holdher ground. “If by ‘some time’, you mean an entire year, then you’re correct.Of course I didn’t recognize you. I scarcely even recalled what you lookedlike. But you obviously knew who I was. I could tell by your reaction atdinner. I’m not a complete fool.”
“I did know, but I only discovered who you were this morning.”He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it askew, and sighed. “I removed yourmask while you were sleeping.”
She contemplated what he’d said, and she had to admit it didmake sense. His reaction to her during charades had been vastly different fromthe passionate lover of the evening before. He’d discovered who she was and hehad not wanted her any longer, at least not in the same way as before. Yes, itmade devastating, awful sense.
She stared, trying not to notice how near he stood to her orthat she could smell his masculine scent of soap and musk. “Why have you comehere, Sandhurst?”
“To Lady Needham’s?” He appeared uncomfortable. “I shouldthink for the same reasons as you.”
“No.” She shook her head, her anger deflating inside herlike a hot air balloon going limp. “Why have you come to my chamber?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, an underlying tone of honestyin his voice.
She turned away from him, the sight of him hurting her toomuch. “You may go. I shall return to the townhouse in London at first light.”She preferred London to the country estate, always had, and never cared for thefashionable custom of leaving the city at summer’s end.
He followed her, catching her bare upper arm. His touch wasa hot brand on her skin. He spun her back to face him. “I never intended tohurt you.”
“Your intentions are a moot point, for you already have hurtme. But this will be the very last time.” And she had never meant words she’dspoken more than those. She would avoid him at every opportunity. Good heavens,if she needed to, she would return to New York. The life she’d been living inEngland held nothing for her save disappointment and solitude.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, still holding her to him.
She wanted to lean into his strength so badly, weak heartthat she was. But then she thought of what he’d told her the night before whenhe hadn’t known who he was plying his charms upon. His heart had been broken bya very old and very dear friend, he’d said. Lady Billingsley. The remindercooled her blood. He’d never cared for Maggie. It had only ever been hismistress he’d wanted in his life, and he’d made that fact abundantly clear. Shehad given up the man she loved to wed him, and she’d been left with nothing.
“You needn’t be,” she said sadly. “Go back to your LadyBillingsley. I’m sure that whatever heartbreak you’ve suffered at her hands canbe mended.”
“Lady Billingsley has returned to her husband,” he told her,his voice rough.
“It was her decision,” she guessed, understanding him just alittle. Perhaps he wasn’t an unfeeling cad, for it appeared as if he had beenhurt by the woman’s defection. But he was still a horrid husband, and she mustnot soften toward him.
He inclined his head, his expression impassive. “Thedecision was not mine.”
