“Were you?”
Yes, he was. Everything had been perfectly fine until…
“Were you happy?” King pressed.
He had been happy. With Rhiannon. She was stubborn and maddening and wild. Messy and chaotic and the sunshine to his rain. Beautiful and intelligent and so passionate.
Perfect for him. That was what she was.
And his. That, too. He couldn’t let her marry the Earl of Carnis.
She had to marryhim, damn it.
“Fucking hell,” he swore, passing a hand over his face.
“You need to go to London posthaste,” King pointed out.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“But first, you need a bath, a decent meal, and a change of wardrobe,” his friend added with a pointed look of disgust aimed at his shirt. “You can’t go to her stinking like a barn, splattered in Salmon a la Chambord, and half soused.”
“No need to spare my feelings,” Aubrey grumbled.
King grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”
CHAPTER 18
Rhiannon led the Earl of Carnis into the gardens, gathering her courage for the difficult conversation that was to come.
“It is a lovely day,” she said awkwardly as they crunched along the gravel path together.
In truth, it was desperately dreary, but she didn’t have an inkling of how to tell this man that she no longer had any intention of marrying him. If only he knew how wretchedly she had betrayed him, he would not look at her with such tender regard as he was now.
“It looks like rain,” the earl pointed out.
So it did. She sighed and continued on with him, staring grimly ahead, trying to find the ideal part of the conversation in which she could throw him over.
“You are quiet this afternoon,” he observed. “Is something on your mind, my dear?”
She glanced back at him. Reginald was a handsome man. He was tall, if not as tall as Aubrey, and as a skilled horseman, he was in excellent shape. His hair was dark and thick, his eyes were a pale shade of blue, and he was an honorable gentleman.
Yet when she looked at him, she felt nothing.
When he spoke, heat didn’t unfurl in her belly, and when she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, she didn’t feel as if she might catch fire. She could scarcely imagine him kissing her on the lips, let alone placing his mouth in places far more scandalous—and pleasurable.
“There is something that has been concerning me, yes,” she said at last, wishing she felt something for him.
Wishing she had fallen in love with him. Reginald wouldn’t have broken her heart. Reginald wouldn’t have walked away from her. He would have loved her in return, this she knew. But perhaps something was inherently wrong with her, because she had ruined everything she had with the earl for a handful of days with a man who was incapable of love. For an illusion that didn’t even truly exist.
“Perhaps we should sit,” Reginald suggested, gesturing to a nearby bench.
“Yes, perhaps we should,” she agreed.
They strolled to the bench and seated themselves upon it, the damp air of the day making her shiver.
“Are you chilled?” he asked solicitously.
She pulled her wrap more tightly about herself, his concern heightening her guilt. “I am well.”
