“You cannot love her,” Beatrice said, a sharpness entering her tone that had been previously absent. “I do not believe you do. Not the way you loved me.”
He shook his head. “I believed myself in love with you long ago, but I was wrong. You made your choice, and now I am making mine. The carriage is already prepared, and your belongings have been packed. Naturally, I will pay for your travel to the dower house. From this moment on, you are no longer welcome in any of my homes.”
She paled. “You mean to send me to Anglesey?”
The old dower house, situated off the coast, on the Isle of Anglesey, had been the family seat centuries ago. He would have sent her farther if he could have, but this would have to suffice. As it was, she would not have the funds to remain in London unless she chose to live off the largesse of a family member. That family member would no longer be him.
“I do,” he said. “I wish you a pleasant journey, Beatrice.”
“But Zachary,” she protested, desperation in every line of her worried countenance as she reached for him.
He sidestepped her, avoiding her touch. “There is no room for argument, my lady. The time has come for you to go.”
With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and left.
He could not undo the damage which had already been done last night, but he could make certain it would never happen again. He should have sent Beatrice to the isle long ago. As he walked away from her, he knew a lightening in his chest he had not felt in years. The chains of the past had been severed, and he was finally free to move on with his life.
Freed of Beatrice and the pain she had caused him.
Now, all he had to do was convince his future wife that he was a man of his word, and that he was worthy of her hand and her heart.
After coming so perilously close to losing her, he was determined to win both.
CHAPTER14
The day was sharp and suddenly unseasonably cold like her heart. To make matters worse, the mist falling that morning left Izzy chilled to the marrow. But neither had stopped her from slipping away from the manor house, dressed in sturdy country boots and a serviceable walking habit, a dolman wrapped around her for extra warmth. The brim of her hat kept the mist from her eyes, but there was no denying the gray bleakness of the landscape.
It matched the way she felt.
For the third morning in a row, she had decided to eschew breakfast, not wishing to subject herself to curious stares. The less she saw of everyone, the better. The less she saw of the earl himself, the better, too. And she had been seeing precious little of him, which pleased her.
First, she had pleaded a headache and had taken her meals in her chamber. When Mama had finally arrived to demand she emerge, Izzy had complied. But she had been careful in her movements, always certain to have one of her sisters at her side. If she was never alone, there was no chance for Anglesey to ply his charm. And if he could not ply his charm, then she could carry on with the business of hardening her heart and remaining impervious to him just as she should have done from the moment she agreed to marry him.
They could have a marriage of convenience just as they had originally planned, and she would return to Talleyrand Park with Mama for the winter and take up watercolors or knitting, and the earl could go back to wooing the ladies of London into his bed. It would be perfect. She would never again be hurt. Nor would she think of him.
Birds called overhead as she plodded miserably through the park, her course as aimless as her thoughts. All she had known was that she needed to escape and to walk, and she had no wish to repeat her visit to the garden when Anglesey had found her there. For when he was able to kiss her, she lost all sense of ration and reason.
Even now, she feared she would not be able to resist him.
Which was why she had been avoiding him.
And why she intended to flee him the moment they were truly husband and wife. Her duty would be done, and she could return to the life she had known before Arthur and Anglesey had betrayed her.
The crunching sound of other boots approaching made her spin about.
Her heart plummeted.
“Izzy.”
He was so despicably handsome, and her stupid heart ached at the sight of him, dressed in tweed trousers and coat, hat worn at a jaunty angle. Mud splattered his riding boots, suggesting he had been exercising one of the horses from the Barlowe Park stables recently. She had never seen him dressed in anything less than elegant perfection. The mud had to have been fresh, for his valet would have polished them to a gleaming sheen otherwise.
“My lord,” she greeted, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
Although several feet yet separated them, he was close enough to tempt her. And curse the beautiful rakehell, but the undeniable attraction to him that plagued her was just as strong as ever.
He kissed the widowed countess, she reminded herself.
You cannot trust him.
