“I—” Nausea rose, choking off her words. Suddenly she was thrown back to a year ago, facing the same incredulity, suffering the burn of humiliation. She was a stain upon this society. A black mark everyone wished to erase. Would this nightmare never end?
Pressing one hand hard against her belly, she shouldered her way past Colin and fled the ballroom. A cowardly move to be sure, but wholly irresistible. Cold air slapped her face as she shoved open the door to an empty veranda. No one was out there. And just as well. The hot tears streaming down her cheeks would not be stopped.
She dashed to the railing and held on tight, waiting for the emotion to pass. But it didn’t. Shame kept coming in rolling waves, incessant, nothing but distant stars in the black sky to comfort her, for God would not. Nor would she ask Him to. Not again. The fear of not receiving an answer was too overwhelming.
Blast that Colin Chamberlain! She’d tried so hard to run from her past, but here it was like a ghost from a grave, all buttoned up in a bespoke suit.
She gripped the wrought-iron railing, relishing the way the unforgiving metal bit into the palms of her hands. The truth was—she could admit this now that she’d met Henry—she’d never loved Colin. Not really. Nor had he loved her, or he’d not have so casually thrown her aside when her father’s disgrace became public. She and Colin had given in to societal expectations, listened to the talk of what a lovely couple they’d made. What a fool she’d been.
Gulping in air, she fought to collect herself. It had been noble of Henry to defend her so boldly, though he’d likely never make that mistake again. Not after Colin’s ugly revelation. In hindsight, she should have told him she’d once been engaged. By holding back the full details of her past, she’d completely undermined the trust he’d placed in her. Keeping such a secret would give him the impression she had other dark intrigues to hide.
But it wasn’t the dread of Henry’s mistrust that sickened her most. No, far worse than that was the knowledge she’d ruined whatever fragile relationship had begun that day he’d caught her in the woods. Since then he’d become her friend, her champion. She’d seen it when his gaze softened on her or his lips curved whenever she chanced to catch him looking her way. She should have stayed in that ballroom, held her head high, met his horrified stare, and shown him she wasn’t the awful woman Colin accused her of being. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed? A sob ripped past her lips.
She’d fled, just like her father had tried to do when he’d been found out. She was no better than he. She’d wasted the past year scorning the very person she was most like. Her chin dropped to her chest, the realization sapping what little fight she had left. Would that the earth might open up, swallowing her whole, and she could lie down forever. Society wouldn’t miss her. Henry probably wouldn’t either.
And she couldn’t blame him for that.
She inhaled deeply, the cold air an ache in her chest. Would she ever know the peace her aunt spoke of?
Behind her the door opened; music swelled and then muffled as it once again shut. Footsteps drew near—a man’s, judging by the deep thud of them. Slow. Deliberate.
She gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles burned. Her heart hoped it was Henry, but it would more likely be Colin come to gloat—the main reason she’d left Cheltenham in the first place, for he’d made life miserable. A coward’s habit, she’d later come to realize. Every time he saw her, it reminded him that he’d fled at the first sign of scandal instead of standing beside her as a decent man would. No, a cad like Colin would rather belittle her than admit he’d run off like the scoundrel he was at heart.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her fingers to let go of the iron, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble again. Not tonight.
Not ever.
As much as he hated to admit it, Henry missed his father. Vincent Russell would have known how to handle this situation—how to handle any situation, actually. It was a hard standard to live up to.
But his father was a continent away, unable to advise him now on how to approach the lone woman standing like a cast-off figurine at the edge of the veranda. The bow of Juliet’s head cut like a knife. The slump of her shoulders, the defeat and pain pushing her down, squeezed the life out of his chest. And yet with every step closer to her, the echo of Colin Chamberlain’s words thudded like an off-key gong.
“She’s a conniving vixen, one who will stop at nothing to get what she wants. And if that is you, she will push everyone out of the way to corner you just as she did me.”
“She’s trouble, Russell. Tainted goods. You’d do best to keep your distance. Had I known she was here, I never would have come.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when she stabs you in the back.—and she will. It’s a Finch family trait.”
Henry stopped a pace behind her, pairing what he’d heard with what he knew of Juliet Finch—and coming up woefully short on how to reconcile the two.
He reached for her, then pulled back his hand as if he might get burned. “What are you doing out here?” The question came out gruffer than he intended.
She spun, eyes wide, cheeks aflame in the light spilling from the ballroom windows. “I—needed a moment. And—you?”
“I needed a moment as well … to find out the truth.” He paused a beat, praying for wisdom to discern fact from fiction. “I know not Mr. Chamberlain, and frankly, I do not care to. But I wish you had told me about him. Not because I want to pry, but because I thought we were friends.”
“We are! I mean, I hope we still are after … well.” Once again her head dipped. “I can only imagine what Colin had to say about me after I left the ballroom.”
“He had plenty to say all the way to the door, where I deposited him on the front steps.”
She jerked her head up. “You escorted him out? Why?”
“My sister and Clara had no need to hear a gentleman berate you. Nor did I.” And once again rage fired in his belly. It’d taken all his restraint to keep from throttling the man for the wicked things he’d said about Juliet. “But I must know how much of what he said was true. Were you engaged to that man?”
She bit her lower lip, but even so, she held his gaze. “I was.”
The thought of her in Chamberlain’s arms—worse, in his bed—hit him like a brick to the head. “I see,” he clipped.
“No, you do not.” Her pert little nose rose in the air. “I was a different person back in Cheltenham, much like the pampered ladies in that ballroom tonight.” She flung her hand towards the assembly hall. “You know society. I played the game and did what was expected of me, as did Colin. There was no love between us.”
