Justin ran one hand through his hair. “I…” He shook his head, dumbfounded. Had Miss Goodnight initiated all of it? It was so completely beyond her character. He must be at fault! The lust he’d experienced lately had obviously gotten the better of him. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he finally answered.
“You’ll offer for her, of course.” Dev sounded a trifle more dukeish than he had a moment ago.
But, of course, he would. He had no choice. But Miss Goodnight? How on earth? “Of course,” he responded.
“Although, knowing Miss Goodnight, it’s quite possible she’ll decline. She’s an odd sort. I’ll admit, I’ve never really understood some of Sophia’s friends.”
If Miss Goodnight declined, Justin would simply have to convince her. He could not allow a young woman’s reputation to be besmirched due to his own animalistic behavior.
But had she placed her arms on him first?
She would not have. The woman could barely meet his eyes on most occasions.
“It’s no matter. She won’t have a choice. I’ll go to her parents if necessary. By,God, Dev, whoareher parents? And why do they unleash their daughter on the world in this manner?”
He had all due respect for women, for their intelligence, their wit, and even their strength, after seeing Miss Mossant handle Lord Kensington so handily, but the men in their lives had a responsibility to protect them. From themselves as well as the less reputable gentlemen circling in theton.
Of which class, he apparently belonged. He’d compromised a woman less than one week after inheriting his title.
Justin rose wearily. “I’ll meet you here early tomorrow morning, then.” He’d seen this situation before, just never imagined himself playing this part. “In order to offer for her.”
He tried to picture himself going down on one knee in Dev’s study. Asking Miss Emily Goodnight to be his wife. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t shake Miss Mossant’s face from his imaginings. What a mess.
Dev simply nodded.
Without another word to his cousin, Justin exited to the foyer and wandered aimlessly until he located an outer door. He ought to pray. He ought to be begging forgiveness.
The moon shone brightly tonight, making the landscape appear brighter than the sconces did inside. Damn, but he out to have left for Carlisle House two days ago. He’d sensed trouble ahead but couldn’t bring himself to leave because of one woman.
Because of unbridled lust.
Feeling the need for solace, peace, he knew where he must go. He crossed the lawn and followed the dirt road along the forest. Less light shone through the trees, but he didn’t care. He knew this route like the back of his hand.
Luckily, he still had his key.
The chapel, which was built in a rectangular shape, had never been ornate. It dated back to the thirteenth century. There was only one entrance, but tall windows lined both sides, rising above the pews somewhat majestically. When Justin entered, he inhaled and the peace that had eluded him all day finally came.
He allowed the door to close behind him, shutting out the turmoil of the last week. He’d missed this. His time with God.
Moonbeams filtered into the building. He’d not need to light a flint. He strolled down the aisle toward the altar and then took a seat in the front pew. He’s spent many hours in this place, both as a child and later performing services. He’d been honored to marry the duke and duchess last winter.
Dropping to his knees, he bowed his head. He did not close his eyes though, choosing instead to watch the shadows cast by trees outside as they danced eerily on the stone floor.
He’d thought he was better than that, thanthis.
“Dear God, forgive me.” The words left him on an exhale. “Forgive me.” His God was the embodiment of grace. Justin had heard many a hell and brimstone sermon, but the New Testament spoke to him.
Would Miss Goodnight ever forgive him? And Miss Mossant? When he’d peered out of the dark closet, her eyes had stared in accusingly. She’d been confused. Shocked even.
Almost as shocked as he’d been to realize it was Miss Goodnight he’d been kissing and not Miss Rhododendron Mossant.
Fathomless coffee colored eyes brimmed with tears. He’d hurt her.
All during the course of a game. A parlor game. Good God, a child’s game. He tilted his head back as though the answers he sought could be read upon the ceiling of the chapel.
And then a breeze swept through.
Turning toward the entrance, he wondered if his eyes deceived him.
