The sensation of dripping between her thighs had her increasing her pace—his seed.
Don’t think about that!
She would wash the night away in the bath.Like a baptism.
Her knees nearly gave out, and she would have fallen if not for Susan’s support. “What have I done?”
“None of this is your fault,” Susan whispered from behind her. “Hush until we get you out of sight.”
But it was!
What was she thinking?
She wasn’t thinking at all. She hadn’t been thinking clearly since the moment Jules told her he didn’t wish to go through with their betrothal.
No, he’d not told her that he did notwishto go through with it; he’d told her he did notintendto go through with it. She’d fooled herself into believing otherwise.
“Our parents, I realize, have had longstanding expectations that the two of us should marry.”More than expectations, she’d wanted to correct him, but she’d said nothing.
“But they never came to an official agreement.”
“I had thought—”
“Not even a verbal one, and I’ve hesitated to act on their expectations for quite some time because I have not sensed romantic inclinations on your part, nor have I experienced them on my own.”
He’d been quite blunt about his feelings for her—or lack of them, rather. At that moment, she had realized that the attention he’d given Miss Jackson had been motivated by more than his desire to be an attentive hose.
“Unless I am mistaken?” he’d added.
That had been her opportunity, her chance to object, to tell him he was wrong. Because, of course, she’d had romantic inclinations toward him. She was in love with him!
But she’d been mortified. Shocked.
And she was embarrassed to feel waves of pity rolling off Bethany, her good friend who’d sat beside her to act as an intermediary.
“You are not mistaken, Jules.”She’d lied. And in an attempt to have him deny his feelings, she’d added.“You are in love with Miss Jackson.”
He’d not denied her suspicion.“I am courting her.”
But he had been wrong on one crucial detail. Therehadbeen a written agreement. When Felicity had gone to her father, he’d insisted it would be honored. “Westerley is just sewing a few wild oats. No man in his right mind would marry that Jackson girl. No man with any blunt, that is.”
And her father had chuckled, almost as though he’d found the situation humorous.
That lack of concern had given her hope.
“Let’s get you into that tub.” Entering the chamber Lady Westerley had always reserved for Felicity’s frequent visits, Susan helped her out of her cloak and ruined dress. Her maid gasped, however, when she peeled off Felicity’s stays. “Oh, my lady, your poor skin.”
Felicity’s skin was the least of her worries. “I just want to go home.”
“I usually keep my opinion to myself, you know, and I realize that your father is my employer, but what he and Westerley did tonight was unforgivable.”
“Jules didn’t want to marry me, Susan.” Felicity shook her head. “He didn’t want me.”
“Good riddance then. He’s a fool.”
Felicity lowered herself into the filled tub. The water was hot, almost too hot. It was perfect.
“What…?” Susan, who normally fluttered around her efficiently, stilled and was staring into the tub. Felicity glanced down and quickly splashed water onto her thigh in an attempt to erase such damning evidence: dried blood and something translucent and white.
