“It doesn’t signify.” And it didn’t, did it?Hewas here. He knew what he’d done. And to his own friend’s daughter. To an innocent.
He knew what else he wanted to do. Far more. He’d only just begun. Depraved was what he was.
“If I’m truly ruined, then you must send me back to Greycote Abbey. There is your answer, Ridgely. Not marriage. Neverthat.”
It took Trevor a moment to understand the implication of her words. Was it possible that she believed her ruination would mean a return to Nottinghamshire? If so, she was horribly misguided.
“What do you mean, I must send you back to Greycote Abbey?” he asked. “You must know I cannot send you there. Even if I wanted to, I could not. It has been sold.”
Her lips parted, and he felt her reaction to his news—news which he hadn’t intended to impart in such fashion—as she recoiled as if she’d been struck.
“Sold?”
He’d been so caught up in trying to figure out who the devil was trying to see him dead that he hadn’t given proper attention to the correspondence he’d received concerning her father’s estate. He damned well should have told her before now. He knew how strongly she felt about Greycote Abbey. Although they’d both known it was inevitable—the terms of her father’s will had demanded the sale—he took no pleasure in carrying out Pembroke’s final requests.
Particularly not when doing so hurt Virtue.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he hated it, the sight of his firebrand struck with the knowledge that her beloved home was gone. He took no pleasure in her pain. Hadn’t wanted the cursed duty. The obligation.
Since inheriting, his life had become a myriad of tasks. He’d never bloody well wanted to be duke. Hadn’t been born to it. He’d been the third son, not even the spare, until Matthew and Bartholomew had become unexpectedly ill. Mother still didn’t forgive him for her golden children’s passings, and Trevor knew it better than anyone. But that was neither here nor there.
“It’s been sold, the legalities completed two days ago,” he repeated quietly, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. “You cannot return.”
“You…oh, I cannot believe it. Howdareyou sell Greycote Abbey?” She pushed at his chest, the action so forceful and unexpected that he took a step back, releasing her. “And without me even knowing? How could you, you utter scoundrel, you…youtyrant?”
She was a head shorter than he, but damn it, let it never be said that Lady Virtue Walcot was not strong. Shewasstrong. Physically, emotionally, mentally. In every way. He accepted her fury. Her sadness.
“I hadn’t a choice,” he said firmly, needing her to understand. “The terms of your father’s will were clear. The estate had to be sold, Virtue. To that end, ithasbeen sold.” He paused, searching her countenance, realization dawning on him anew. “Do not tell me you believed I would send you back there, all this time, to Nottinghamshire?”
She said nothing, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Christ,” he muttered. “I thought you understood.”
“And I th-thought I was to be informed before the sale happened,” she said, sniffling through her tears in a valiant attempt at composure. “Should I not have had a say in the matter? Should I not have been told? Asked?”
He felt quite suddenly as if he’d swallowed a stone.
“I’m your guardian,” he explained needlessly. “I made the decisions on your behalf.”
“How could you do this to me, to my home and the people I love? I’ll never forgive you.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she whirled away, fleeing the music room.
Trevor watched her go, feeling every bit as shattered.
CHAPTER12
“Marriage,” Pamela repeated, her tone incredulous as it echoed through the private confines of his study. “You?”
Trevor winced. He couldn’t fault his sister for her shocked reaction to his announcement that he intended to wed Virtue. No one had ever wanted to find himself leg-shackled less than he. But he couldn’t be trusted with his ward.
That was the plain truth of it. Where Virtue was concerned, he possessed neither restraint, nor compunction. Nothing save the all-encompassing need to greedily have her any and every way he could, for the rest of time.
He was doomed.
And not just because someone wanted him dead. But because of his own recklessness. His own foolishness. This ridiculous, utterly unprecedented need for her that was a poison in his blood. The venom could not be removed. Nothing would cure or quell it.
“Me,” he agreed, inclining his head to acknowledge the irony. He was standing by the window, where moments before his sister had joined him, he’d been watching a deluge of rain falling from the gray-cast sky. The gloom beyond seemed a perfect reflection of the day. “Marriage. To Lady Virtue.”
“But…you…she…”
