The realization left her bemused. And beset by another emotion entirely. She refused to believe it was jealousy, for she had no designs upon Aylesford herself. She had been forced into their feigned betrothal. The kisses they had shared had been a rare aberration. One which would not be repeated.
“Who was it?” she asked, in spite of herself.
“My betrothed,” he admitted, before raking his fingers through his tousled waves.
He had been betrothed before. How sobering the knowledge was, and how strange. It also made her realize how little she knew of him beyond the days she had spent in his presence at the house party. Nearly a fortnight, it was true. Hardly enough to learn everything there was to know about him.
He looked to be all of thirty. Surely, he had lived a long and storied life before they had ever crossed paths. And even within that observation lay another sobering fact: she did not know how old he was. She scarcely knew anything about him.
Though she told herself it did not signify, that his past had no bearing upon her role as his feigned betrothed, she still could not help herself.
“You had a betrothed?” she asked, curiosity prodding her.
And something else as well. Something she refused to examine or acknowledge.
He inclined his head. “I did.”
For all that he had apparently been in his cups when he had fallen asleep on her bed—or at least, that was what she supposed—he seemed alarmingly sober now. “Was she a feigned betrothed as well?”
His lips flattened, his jaw hardening. “No.”
Interesting.
For some reason, the notion of Viscount Aylesford, the charming, beautiful rake who kissed her so passionately and made her feel everything she did not want to, falling beneath the spell of another woman set her on edge.
“Were you in love with her?” she dared to ask.
“I thought I was until I saw her in the arms of a close friend,” he said, raising a brow, his tone bitter. “Needless to say, I realized the error of my ways at once. I no longer count the Duke and Duchess of Linden amongst my acquaintances.”
Dear heavens.His betrothed had betrayed him with his friend?
And, even worse, they were now wed?
Little wonder he had become a jaded rake.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she said.
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I am not. She saved me from a terrible fate. I would far prefer to discover my betrothed is faithless than to discover my wife is.”
When he phrased it thus, she could not argue. Still, she sensed the lingering hurt underlying his words.
“Nevertheless, it must have distressed you, her betrayal.” She paused, searching his gaze, seeing a new side of him that somehow lowered her defenses. He seemed more vulnerable. Less sensual, rakish god and more heartbroken, beautiful man.
“It made me realize love is a fiction,” he said. “But that does not excuse my accusations in the gardens last night. I am sorry for suggesting you were meeting another. I know it was only your brother, who was likely following you about and noted your disappearance. I cannot blame him, for I would do the same for my sisters. Fortunately for me, Lyd is marrying Warwick, and Cecily is still in the schoolroom. But if I had a blackguard like myself following about either of them, even if he was their betrothed…”
“Dev is protective,” she agreed softly. “And I forgive you for the suggestion. I understand now that it was your past and not your opinion of me which led to your remarks. I do hope, however, that you will learn to trust me. I may be nothing more than your feigned betrothed, Aylesford, but I will not play you false. Not now, nor ever. This, I promise you.”
“I believe you, Grace,” he said, more solemn than she had ever seen him.
His assurance filled her with a new warmth. A different sort of warmth. A dangerous sort of warmth. Her emotions rioted within her, out of control. The way he looked at her was making her weak. Or perhaps it was her attraction to him, which was steadily growing with each passing day.
“Thank you, Lord Aylesford.” She swallowed again, battling down a sweeping rush of feeling she had no right to experience.
He was not her true betrothed.
Nothing passing between them now was real.
He had been tippling. Had he not?
