She could not look at him.
She’d wanted to be ravished. More than that, she’d demanded it.
And now, she was indeed compromised. Ruined, and this time, the fault was strictly her own.
Even if no one else ever discovered what had happened just now, she would know, and eventually, a husband would as well.
Which made her unmarriageable.
It was as though she’d ripped away any remaining hope she might have had for a happily-ever-after for herself.
It was… terrifying.
“Felicity?” His fingertips stroked her cheek, and she turned away. She was going to have to face him—a fallen woman now.
A jezebel.
A choking sound tore through her chest.
“Look at me.” The insistence in his voice was impossible to ignore.
This close, even in the shadows, she could make out a myriad of colors in his eyes—eyes fringed by impossibly thick lashes. His thick hair sprang out wildly, ironically making him seem more handsome than when it was combed.
Unbidden, the memory of silky strands threading through her fingers taunted her. His hair was surprisingly soft.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think to say. Because…
She had used him, and that was unforgivable. She’d taken advantage of his compassion and his willingness to comfort her.
“That’s what I’m supposed to say,” he said.
So odd, having this conversation with him now. In truth, Manningham was little more than a stranger to her—an acquaintance.
“I… You…”
“You needn’t worry. We can marry, a formal wedding if you’d like, but in light of…” Manningham glanced down, “I can obtain a special license.”
She was shaking her head, though, and then squirming. No! No! That wasn’t what this had been about. She’d simply needed to break the rules—not trap an unsuspecting husband.
“Let me up.” She pushed at his chest and he immediately moved off her. It was then that she got a glimpse of his manhood, which was smaller now than it had been before, and her thighs, streaked with blood.
Mortified, she shoved down her skirts. Her gown was in tatters, much like her soul.
“There’s no need, Manningham.”
“There is every need.” He wasn’t looking at her but tucking himself back into his trousers and sounding impatient.
“No. Please.” Men, she was coming to believe, could be ridiculously impossible.
“You are a proper lady, and I am a gentleman—who normally exhibits considerably more honor, mind you. Unmarried people of a certain age don’t simply lie with one another and then pretend it never happened.”
“But that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Of course, he would offer to marry her. She would be tied to Manningham, an unsuspecting gentleman. The viscount, she knew, would actually marry her but…
He’d do so for all the wrong reasons. “I…Thank you. That, just now, was lovely. It was precisely what I… needed. But I have no intention of marrying.” A wave of shock crested and then rolled over her.
The idea of marrying anyone but Westerley was… inconceivable!
Manningham sat facing her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze.
