Forgive me for leaving so suddenly, but I believe it was for the best—for both of us.
* * *
Yours, Nicolas
Her heart sunk as she read and reread the words he had written. “Best for who?” she seethed, running her fingers over the ink. He was a rogue after all, to leave without a word. But a coward, too? That was harder to swallow—and after what they had shared.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she tried to make sense of her conflicting emotions. The joy of their intimate encounter still lingered, yet it was now tinged with heartache. Had she been too forward? Too eager? Or was this simply another of his impulsive acts? She crumbled the letter in her hand.
As she rose from the bed, wrapping herself in her discarded nightgown, she could not help but feel a mix of heartache and anger. Nicolas had stirred feelings in her she thought long buried, and while he had not declared his love for her, his hasty departure stung.
She had given him her heart—her body, and now he was gone. Was she just another conquest to him, another fleeting moment in a rogue’s life?
Had she meant nothing to him?
Emily’s thoughts whirled as she fled the room, desperate to leave the memories of the prior night behind.
Nine
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones. The scent of coal smoke and horses hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the crisp country breeze Nicolas had left behind. With each turn of the wheels, Emily’s face flashed before him—her sparkling eyes, her gentle smile. A sharp pang of regret knotted in his chest.
She had haunted him from the moment he rode away from her estate three days past. He arrived at his bachelor flat late last night, then attempted to drink himself into a deep slumber, only to dream of her.
He should not have left her. Running a hand through his hair, he cursed himself. Not without so much as a goodbye. Emily deserved better. But he did not have time for regrets now. Not when Joslyn needed him.
Nicolas barely waited for the carriage to stop when it pulled up in front of his family’s townhouse before leaping out, his long legs carrying him swiftly to the door. He raised the brass knocker, his heart pounding with anticipation and worry.
The door swung open, and a blur of auburn hair and cream silk rushed toward him.
“Nicolas,” Joslyn cried, flinging herself into his arms. “Oh, thank heavens you are here. I was so worried.”
He embraced his sister, feeling her trembling against him. “Joslyn, my dear,” he said, his voice soft with concern. “What has happened? Your letter was so vague. Tell me you have not agreed to Forge’s proposal.”
“I most certainly have not.” She pulled back, her eyes shimmering with tears. “It was a dreadful mess, Nicolas. I have been such a fool.” She gripped his arms, her slender fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. “But where have you been? I expected you days ago.”
A flash of guilt crossed his face. “I was delayed south of Luton. There was a terrible storm.” Emily and the time they had spent together flashed through his mind. “Forgive me, Jos. I came as quickly as I could.”
Joslyn’s brow furrowed. “Luton? It is scarcely a town at all. What on earth were you doing there? I thought you were at Lord Blackwood’s estate?”
Nicolas hesitated, torn between confiding in his sister and focusing on her predicament. “It is... a very long story,” he said, managing a wry smile. “One best saved for another time. For now, tell me what has happened to you.”
As Joslyn spoke, Nicolas guided her into the house. The warm air greeted them, scented with beeswax and lavender, a familiar comfort. He closed the door, shutting out the world beyond. Yet even as he listened to his sister’s words, his mind could not help but wander back to Emily, wondering if he had made the right choice in leaving her like he had.
As Joslyn opened her mouth to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the marble-floored entry hall. Nicolas turned, his heart swelling with warmth as he saw his parents enter.
“Mother, Father.” A genuine smile spread across his face at the sight of them.
Lady Quinton rushed forward, her silk skirts rustling as she enveloped Nicolas in a tight embrace. “My darling boy.” She held him close, her voice thick with emotion. “How we have missed you.”
Nicolas returned the embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of rose water that always clung to his mother’s clothes. “And I you, Mother.”
As they parted, the Earl of Quinton approached, clasping Nicolas’s shoulder with a firm hand. “Welcome home, son,” he said, his deep voice resonating with affection.
Nicolas inclined his head. “Thank you, Father. It is good to be back.”
The earl grinned, his gaze dancing. “I trust your journey was pleasant? Though I daresay something unpleasant must have happened to delay you.”
“A blizzard. And a tumble from my mount. I was injured and became sick, but I assure you I am fully recovered from the ordeal.”
