“Lady Catriona.”
The low voice at her back—familiar and unwanted—stiffened her spine. She spun about to face the Marquess of Shrewsbury.Dear heavens, she had somehow failed to realize he was in attendance this evening. Had she known he would be present, she would never have come. She had not seen him since the awful night he had ruined her with a kiss and a wager.
Even in the moonlight, he was still as handsome as she remembered. Tall, lean, and elegant. But seeing him now, she felt none of the yearning she had once felt. None of the silly fluttering in her belly that had led her to allow him to lure her into a chamber and kiss her.
Instead, she felt only anger.
“I have nothing to say to you, my lord,” she told him coldly. “If you will excuse me, I must return to the ball before I am missed and before you lead me into another scandal.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her, though he made no effort to touch her. “Wait, my lady. Please. I would ask for a minute of your time. Nothing more.”
“You do not deserve amomentof my time.” The resentment she still harbored over the callous way he had treated her boiled, making her hands tremble. “You have already done enough damage to my reputation. I will not allow you the opportunity to do more.”
“I want to apologize, Lady Catriona,” he startled her by saying.
It was not what she had expected, and she told herself that was the reason she lingered rather than fleeing when she should have.
She considered him. “You are far too late in offering your contrition, Lord Shrewsbury, if indeed you have any.”
Which she doubted.
This was the man who courted her and wooed her, who sent her posies and took her driving, who danced with her and sought her out at every society function before arranging for a group of others to witness him kissing her. He had known she would be ruined. And he had not cared.
She could still recall the expression on his face after they were caught.
Triumph.
It had only been the next morning that she had discovered the extent of his betrayal after Monty had informed her of the wager. The bet had not been common knowledge until Shrewsbury had claimed his winnings.
And Catriona had been sent to Scotland. Monty had given her a choice: wed Shrewsbury or be banished. She had chosen banishment.
“I tried to call on you a number of times,” the marquess persisted. “I wanted to explain.”
“There is no explanation you have which will ameliorate your actions,” she told him, and she had never meant words more. “Your actions spoke well enough for you.”
“I accepted the wager before I knew you,” he said, stepping closer to her.
Once, she would have relished his nearness. She would have longed for the slant of his lips over hers. No longer.
“I do not care to hear your reasons,” she snapped, aware the longer she lingered here with him, the greater their chances of being caught once more.
And she had only begun to reclaim her life. She could ill afford another scandal. Not even becoming the Countess of Rayne would help her if she was once more ruined by the Marquess of Shrewsbury, to say nothing of what her betrothed would do. Or Monty.
“I offered for you,” Shrewsbury continued, ignoring her protestations. “I would have been happy to make you my marchioness. Montrose refused my suit, and he would not allow me to see you. I…I never meant for you to be hurt, Lady Catriona. I beg you to believe me.”
She did not know what to believe.
“I refused your suit myself,” she told him. “I would sooner be ruined than to become the wife of a man who would so callously betray me. You arranged for witnesses. You intended for me to be ruined.”
“After the bet had begun, I realized I wanted you as my wife.” He paused, reaching out and taking her hands in his. “I still do, Lady Catriona. I know you are betrothed to Rayne now, but it is not too late for us. You can cry off and marry me instead.”
She could not have been more shocked if he had leapt from the balcony before her.
She tried to tug her hands free, but he held fast. “Lord Shrewsbury, I have no intention of calling off my engagement. You are forgetting that I do not want to marry you, regardless of the feelings you claim to have.”
“I do not claim,” he insisted. “I know. I am in love with you, Lady Catriona. You hold my heart in your hands.”
“You are too late in making such confessions.” His protestations of feelings for her left her oddly unmoved. Whatever his motivations, he had betrayed her. She could not forgive a man so willing to use her for his own gain. Some hurts simply ran too deep to be dispelled.
