Her world was falling down around her. Everything she had known was a falsehood. A betrayal.
“I will return, Duchess,” he warned, before offering her a mocking bow.
With slow, painstaking motions, he turned and left the room, his walking stick thumping in a rhythmic, menacing blow with each step he took. She held her middle, doing everything in her power to keep from weeping as she watched him leave. And damn her foolish heart, but she could not help but to drink in the sight of him. His broad back, his too-long hair, his lean hips and long legs. There was so much about his gait that was familiar and so much that was new.
Look at me, she found herself pleading with him.
Show me that Robin is still alive and breathing, somewhere within you.
Show me Robin was not all a sham.
But Mr. Adrian Hastings did not pause in his exit from the chamber. And nor did he turn back to her. Instead, he tore open the door with his free hand. One of her footmen stood on the threshold, his eyes going wide as he took in the angry gentleman who had been closeted away with her.
She was more than aware of the conclusions the servant would likely draw from the scene he was witnessing. And they were correct, every last one of them. And worse, too.
Tilly found her voice. “Please see the gentleman to the door.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The footman bowed.
Mr. Hastings left the chamber.
The door closed.
And her legs went weak. Her knees gave out. She collapsed to the carpets in a heap of silk and remembrance. Shock coursed over her, so violent and vehement that she trembled beneath the force of it. Her hands, fisted in her elegant skirts, shook. Her mouth was dry.
Her mind returned to the day she had realized he was gone. To the first day she had lost him. Her eyes closed against a sudden rush of tears which would not be quelled. They raged, coursing down her cheeks, soaking her bodice. Great, heaving sobs overwhelmed her.
She sobbed her grief.
She sobbed her rage.
She sobbed her fear.
An indeterminate span of time passed. She could not be certain how much, how long she had spent crying herself silly in the morning room whilst the ball she had planned with such regimented detail and rare joy happily carried on across the hall.
As sobs wracked her, she became aware of another low, steady knocking on the door.
Of a voice, one she recognized as belonging to a dear friend. “Tilly?”
Thank heavens.
“Pippa.” Relief washed over her, but she found she could not stand. Nor could she stop the hysterical sobs making her shudder and shake and catch her breath. “Come in,” she managed to call.
The door opened again, and her friend came rushing toward her. Like Tilly, Pippa was a recent widow. They had bonded over that connection, but they had been old friends since before Tilly’s unfortunate marriage with Longleigh and Pippa’s love match with Mr. George Shaw.
Pippa closed the door and rushed to Tilly’s side, taking her in a reassuring embrace. “What has happened, my dear friend?”
She took a deep, hitching breath. “Everything I believed was a lie.”
* * *
“You have done it, then?”
After so much speaking, it was difficult for Adrian to find his voice again, so he nodded at his companion in the carriage as it rattled away from Haddon House. Seeing her again had been more difficult than he had imagined it would be.
It had been the most difficult thing he had done since regaining his freedom.
Akin to tearing his heart from his chest.
