Alone?
To face her mother’s recriminations? Not that he’d known there were none to come.
“He asked if you’d receive him later this afternoon.” A twinkle sparkled in the duke’s eyes.
She would receive him. Oh, yes, she would receive him! “Of course.” She nodded with a glance at her mother. And then she looked around to see all of her friends so very happy. They all loved her, and she loved every one of them.
“Oh, Em and Cecily!” Sophia’s face burst into pure merriment. “You’ll never guess what has happened…”
Whereupon, the men cleared their throats and promptly excused themselves with a promise to return in a few hours’ time to collect their wives.
The four women had a great deal to catch up on.
And then Rhoda, well, Rhoda had an earl to receive.
Earning It
Rhoda had done nothing wrong. When she’d told Justin she’d stepped aside and Kensington had gone tumbling, Justin had felt tremendous relief.
He berated himself for not protecting her sooner. For not putting an end to all this nonsense when they first arrived in London. Hell, he ought to have offered for her before leaving for Eden’s Court.
He’d not miss his chance again.
It was over today. All of it. In more ways than one.
He adjusted himself and increased the pace of his stride as he made his way purposefully along the street.
He’d been inside of her. He tried not to conjure the recent euphoric memory. He was already struggling to subdue his urges and didn’t need the added encumbrance of having to hide the beast.
A chuckle escaped at the thought.
God, but she’d been more than he ever might have imagined. As though he’d found the missing part of himself.
All the months of longing, yearning, and lusting. The thought that she’d wanted him—Justin White, former vicar and pockets-to-let earl—brought a lump to his throat and a burning sensation to the backs of his eyes.
Rhoda. His Rhododendron.
She’d been through too much this past year. More than any lady, more than any person, ought ever to have to endure.
Dev had admitted proudly that he’d lie, steal, or even kill for his duchess.
Justin intended to do even worse.
Taking a deep breath, he burst through the doors at White’s and marched over to the betting book. The atmosphere was subdued this morning, and the gentlemen present appeared downtrodden. Likely mourning the death of Lord Kensington.
Which was no loss at all.
“The wager has been won!” he calmly informed the employee who kept watch, just loud enough so as to be easily overheard. “And proof can be met with testimony from a Mr. Bradley, the local magistrate.”
“By whom?” One of the lords seated near the betting book swiveled his head around from his hand of cards to see who dared to make such a claim.
“By me.”
Laughter met his statement. “Weren’t you a vicar up until a few weeks ago?” A few of the gentlemen had risen from their seats, however, and approached him curiously.
“Indeed,” Justin said proudly. “But now I am Carlisle. And I expect to collect in a timely manner.”
“You’ve got to be jesting.” Another familiar-looking gentleman began flipping through the pages of signatures and wagers in the smaller leather book.
