Hartwell’s lack of fealty was what she deserved.
Meghan’s betrothed and the man who she loved were about to have it out over the lush pair before them.
Tears burned her eyes.
All this was what she deserved for sneaking here to profess her love to—
“Where is your paramour for the night?” the duke asked.
Meghan jerked reflexively, the leaves swishing damningly.
Her heart in her throat, she held her breath.
The conversation carried on without interruption. “Left you waiting here has she, Culross? Something tells me I could easily take her off your hands.”
Her tears dried up. She went cold.
“How very like you to secure athirdmistress this close to your wedding, Hartwell. Is that what is getting you through the prospect of marriage to the McQuoid girl?”
Meghan blinked slowly.
Her mind struggled to process what she had heard.
Meghan hugged her arms tight around her middle. A fresh wave of bitterness washed over her.
August’s hatred of the Tremaines and McQuoids ran deeper than regard for her feelings.
“I hope Miss McQuoid Smith has not deluded herself into believing her husband-to-be loyal.”
Her chest ached.
Lord Culross jeered not Hartwell—butMeghan.
“I am not beholden to anyone,” Hartwell replied with ducal frost that chilled her to the marrow. “Certainly not my future wife.”
Her teeth chattered. Meghan gritted them quickly to keep from giving herself away.
“The poor girl.” August was far too bored to ever be sincere.
The girl.He had not touched her as one pats a child’s head. He had held her like a woman he wanted.
His Grace’s hollow laugh echoed through the orangery, ugly against the sweetness of citrus. “How could I forget? You are the same pathetic romantic who believes in love.”
Her pain was not solitary, but that knowledge offered no comfort.
The duke kept at his attack. “Isn’t that why you absconded with my sister-in-law?” He fired rapid barbs. “Fancied yourself in love, did you? Still have a hankering for Lady Tremaine?”
Another spasm seized her heart. He had loved her sister, Linnie, with that same terrible intensity. And her own fiancé had never looked at Meghan with anything at all.
The urge to cross the space and silence their laughter rose sharp and reckless in her throat. Somehow Meghan found the willpower to resist.
“Your audience grows tiresome.” August did not raise his voice. “Why don’t you scurry off and enjoy your limited time as a bachelor?”
“Cela vous offense, n’est-ce pas…qu’il parle de nous ainsi, Your Grace?”It offends you, doesn’t it…that he speaks of us that way?
Bitterness washed over Meghan.
If those women believed the duke would defend their honor, they were as foolish as she had been in agreeing to a loveless match.
