She stared down at the rough facsimile of his handsome countenance looking back at her and sighed. The hours until she could see him again stretched before her, unwanted and daunting. And she realized, quite suddenly and forcefully, that the diversions she had used to soothe herself in the years following Bertie’s death were no longer sufficient. She didn’t wish to draw, and she didn’t want to shop. Nor was she enthused about losing herself in the societal whirl this evening at the Searle ball.
Everything she had so thoroughly lost herself in failed her.
And her heart? He had thoroughly melted every last hint of ice she had built around it. It was terrifying, because she hadn’t an inkling what to do with these inconvenient feelings. Not just base lust, but something far stronger. Something bigger. Something terrifying.
Something that felt quite a lot like love.
A creak in the hall floor alerted her that she was not alone a moment before a maid appeared in the doorway, offering a perfect curtsy. “Lady Deering, pray forgive me for the interruption, but His Grace has asked me to inform you that he wishes an audience with you in his study.”
Ice slid down her spine. She slammed her folio closed, banishing Theo’s face. Hands trembling, she rose and smoothed her skirts, clutching her folio and porte-crayon. Had her brother seen her leaving the guest chamber earlier? Had a servant?
“Of course.” She forced a smile for the girl’s sake, not wishing for the maid to see how very affected she was by the unexpected request. “Thank you.”
Another curtsy, and the maid disappeared down the hall. Pamela made her way to her brother’s study, her stomach tightening into a knot as she wondered what he would do now. There was only one reason he could wish for a private audience.
Heknew.
Would he ask her to leave Hunt House? If he did, where would she go? To Mother, she supposed, in the country. If Mother would have her. Or perhaps she might beg the hospitality of friends for a time. Mayhap Selina. Certainly, Ridgely would make sure to cut off her accounts at the shops if he were angry enough. She couldn’t blame him. She could only blame herself. It had been wrong of her to take a lover at all, let alone at Hunt House. Particularly with Lady Virtue in residence.
Mind reeling with the implications of what she had done, she knocked at his closed study door, waiting for him to bid her enter. Hesitantly, she stepped inside, finding him standing sentinel at a bank of windows, raking a hand through his dark hair and leaving it in disarray.
“Ridgely,” she began, thinking that she ought to offer an explanation. Anything to blunt the sting of his outrage over her scandalous actions.
“You are to wish me happy,” he blurted before she could continue. “I am about to enter into the vaunted institution of marriage. Otherwise known as the parson’s mousetrap.”
She blinked, staring at him, utterly shocked.
He didn’t know, then. This meeting was not at all about herself and Theo. Relief washed over her like the cold rain lashing against the window panes behind him. She swayed on her feet, thinking that if she were of weaker disposition, she might have swooned from the force of it.
“Marriage,” she repeated, finding her voice. “You?”
“Me,” he agreed wryly, inclining his head as if to acknowledge the irony. “Marriage. To Lady Virtue.”
To Lady Virtue?
No. She had been so careful in her chaperoning of the girl after that dreadful incident in the library. Had she not? Or had she been too caught up in her clandestine affair with Theo?
Guilt twisted through Pamela.
“But…you…she…” she sputtered, words eluding her.
“Yes. I intend to marry her.” Ridgely paused, then sighed heavily. “Imustmarry her.”
“You must, you say.” Understanding dawned on her. Good God. Something else had happened. He had ruined Lady Virtue. Pamela had to move. To walk. Her feet began carrying her down one length of the chamber, closer to her brother, that she might better read his expression. “What have you done this time?”
She marched toward Ridgely, her fear of being caught supplanted by outrage on behalf of her charge. Was it her imagination, or was her careless rakehell brother flushing?
“I have compromised her,” he said simply, moving away from the window and stalking toward the hearth, where a black ink stain remained on the bricks, mocking her for her inability to control her fury the last time they’d had such a tête-à-tête. He turned back to her, looking rather shamefaced. “Quite beyond repair.”
Dear heavens. Shehadbeen so caught up in her own affairs, then, that she had somehow failed at her duty.
“It has only been three days since the last incident,” she said lamely.
“Four,” Ridgely muttered.
As if it mattered. She was not sure which of them she was more disappointed in, herself or her brother.
“Youpromised,” she reminded him. “You swore you would keep your distance from her.”
