Her heart had lurched at the words;It’s Prescott.
For some reason she imagined her husband. Her dead husband had come and discovered what she’d been doing. Not that he would have cared, but… she would have.
But it was Dev. Of course. It was only Dev.
Loretta froze in place. Surely, Thomas wouldn’t allow Devlin entry? But what would he tell him? That they’d simply taken refuge here over night? Why wouldn’t they have stayed in the main house, where they would have been allowed separate chambers? Good lord! Separate beds!
Would Devlin guess? Would he tell Sophia, her daughter-in-law?
Listening to the murmured voices outside, Loretta’s face burned. She couldn’t make out the conversation but knew this affair had come to a rather sudden end.
Scrambling about, she donned her own clothing as best as she could for the second time in as many days.
Everything was wrinkled! And her hair! Even the comb in her reticule could not bring it under control and the small amount of cosmetics she wore had long since been rubbed away.
How could she face Dev?
Before she could work herself into a full-fledged panic, a burst of frigid air blew in as Thomas reentered the small cottage.
“Dev rode, but he had a driver follow with a sleigh.”
Blinking, at the odd turn of phrase, Loretta nearly stuttered in her embarrassment. “But— Does he suspect? Did he say anything? What did you tell him? About…?” She extended her hand to the bed.
“Worry not, Duchess. As uncouth as you imagine me to be, I did not, in fact, tell your nephew that I spent the evening swiving his widowed aunt.”
But she’d angered him. His jaw had gone taunt and his eyes distant.
“Just tell me one thing, Duchess.” The title did not sound like much of an endearment this time. “Are you embarrassed that you’ve been swived, or are you embarrassed that you’ve been swived by me?”
How could she answer this? Right now?
All she knew was mortification that her nephew might possibly guess that she’d given in to the physical desires of her body… that she even experienced such physical desires…
And utter shame at telling him about Harold.
And fear.
“I’ll return in quarter of an hour to assist you to the conveyance.” He didn’t wait around for her response but instead stomped back out of the cottage.
And then he left.
Silence.
Thomas Findlay could not be any more different than Prescott had been. When she’d managed to irritate her late husband, he’d merely smile thinly. Because it hadn’t mattered to either of them. They’d lived separate lives. They’d avoided each other’s company except for specific social and family obligations. It had all been quite unintentional, because there had been little love between them. Only obligation and self-discipline.
Once Loretta had realized the nature of her marriage, she’d mourned for several weeks but then accepted her fate. She’d accepted that it came along with her position and status in society.
But now that she no longer held the same position, in practice so much as in fact, something had changed inside of her.
And that something had caused her to act impetuously, indeed.
Dev would likely know of it. A man of the world, he’d guess at the activities she and Mr. Findlay had embarked upon.
Wouldn’t he?
The condition of the cottage stirred her to life. Blushing hotly, she went about setting the bed to rights. After smoothing and tucking, however, all of her efforts failed to affect the sleek appearance it had had when they’d entered.
Would anyone permit that Mr. Findlay had slept upon the floor? A choked gurgle worked its way up her throat when she glanced through the seams of the wood to see the earth beneath it.
