“Perhaps it wasn’t your finest moment,” she said candidly. “But we’ve all been guilty of misunderstandings at some time or another. After you left, Mr. Canning was horrified that you had arrived at the conclusion that he and I…that there was anything going on. We were merely discussing his novel. He was stuck, and I had some ideas. You know, because of all my novel reading.”
“I know nothing was going on,” Ethan bit out. “It was…it was just me. Being an idiot. I will apologize to Canning in the morning. Now, you should get some rest. You must be tired after the debacle of the evening.”
“I am not leaving until I know why you are angry.” She stood her ground, her hands clenched by her fluffy green skirts. “Did you not want me there this evening? If so, you should have told me.”
“Of course I wanted you there.” He gave up on grooming Legato, irritably tossing the brush into a box.
“I understand, you know.” She lifted her chin. “What happens in private is one thing, in public another altogether. We may be lovers, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am your servant and not from your class. I do not belong amongst your family and friends. Perhaps seeing me there tonight brought home that fact.”
“Christ, Xenia.” He stared at her, dumbfounded by the conclusion she’d arrived at. “You think that I’m in a devil of a mood because you did notfit inthis evening?”
“It was not my idea to be an interloper, you know,” she shot back. “It was your sister’s. She said she wanted female company this eve and gave me this dress which, by the by, I’m certain was actually from you. Her maid dressed me and ruined my hair?—”
“Your hair isn’t ruined. It’s bloody perfect,” he said in exasperation. “I hope to God you never dye it again. In fact, I insist upon it.”
“You don’t have a right to tell me what to do with my hair.” She was working herself into a fine rage. “Not when you cannot be honest. Just admit it, Ethan: you don’t want anyone knowing about us. Maybe seeing me in that dress made you realize that fine feathers do not make the bird and that I’ll never belong in your world. SomethingIknew from the start, which is why I never asked for commitments or promises?—”
“Christ, I am not angry at you,” he exploded. “I am angry at myown bloody self.”
“Why?” she retorted. “Because you stooped to dally with your housekeeper?”
There were so many things wrong with her statement that he didn’t know where to start. His temper snapped.
“No, I’m furious because I didn’t know that my ex-fiancée was sleeping with my best friend,” he said savagely. “And because I was foolish enough to propose to her in the first place.”
When Xenia lost her temper, which wasn’t often, she typically took awhile to wind down. Not this time. Ethan’s admission was like a pile of ashes dumped on her anger.
“Uh…” was all she could think to say.
“You want to know about the woman I was engaged to,” he said curtly.
Right. Yes. She most certainly did. While he’d mentioned being engaged before this, he’d obviously glossed over a few details. He’d said the relationship ended because they “did not suit,” which was a far cry from “my betrothed did the mattress jig with my best friend.”
“Who…when?” Xenia managed.
“Her name is Constance. She was a widow, and I met her shortly after I was injured. We were engaged for two years, and things ended a few weeks before my arrival in Chuddums.”
He was with this woman for two years? And their relationship barely just ended?
“I was never in love with Constance, but I thought we suited,” he went on. “She was well-bred and accommodating. She didn’t seem to care that I lost my ability to perform as a virtuoso and my short-lived fame along with it. When I had my moods, she was patient and kind.”
Xenia’s insides plummeted. Constance seemed like the perfect lady. The opposite of Xenia, who’d accused Ethan of being grumpy, got herself hired on false pretenses, and pestered him about ghosts, curses, and making music again.
“I don’t understand,” she said in a small voice. “Why would such a perfect lady commit infidelity?—”
“She only sounds perfect.” Ethan raked a hand through his hair. “Like I said, I was foolish enough not to see the truth…but Gigi did. She never liked Constance, and recently, she told me why. She said Constance needed to be seen as a paragon, and I was the perfect foil: a damaged rake who she could reform with her virtue.”
“You arenotdamaged,” Xenia said fiercely.
“You didn’t know me then.” His violet-blue eyes were tormented. “After my injury, I was a bloody wreck. I was soangry—at Owen, at the loss of my music and my life as I knew it. Constance did seem like an angel at first. She buffered me from the people and things that triggered my rage and encouraged me to withdraw when I wasn’t fit for company. What I didn’t realize until Gigi pointed it out was that Constance was, in fact, also reinforcing my worst tendencies.”
“What tendencies?”
“Instead of sorting things out with Owen and my family, I avoided them. Instead of accepting my physical limitations and looking for different ways to pursue my passion, I wallowed in self-pity and rage and gave up music altogether. Instead of managing my moods, I would lock myself in my study and brood for days. I am not blaming Constance: I, alone, am responsible for my behavior. However, being with her did not bring out the best in me, and I am only now realizing it.”
“But if she was getting what she wanted from the relationship,” Xenia said slowly, “why did she betray you?”
“I tortured myself for weeks asking that exact question.” He braced his hip with his good hand, his gaze studiously on the hay-strewn floor. “At first, I thought it was because I did not satisfy her...physically, I mean.”
