“I have a far greater diversion awaiting me than the whore you chased after earlier,” Hartwell said, a cruel smile in his voice.
The beauties giggled—as though he had said something charming rather than cruel words that made a mockery of Meghan.
“Ah, the fact you would rather stay here debating me suggests otherwise.”
Meghan sat stock-still.
What did it say about her future that she and the duke had both ventured here in pursuit of something else—for Meghan, one last reckless hope?
People entered into far colder, far more mercenary marriages than the one she and the Duke of Hartwell would soon commit to.
For her betrothed, it was a night of diversion.
Telling herself as much did not help.
Hartwell took one last Parthian shot. “Let’s leave Culross to his pining over my sister-in-law and find our pleasure somewhere else.”
Silence filled the orangery.
Meghan dragged her knees close and hugged them.
Please, let August leave.She couldn’t face him. It was better he go. Even she, who damned every rule of propriety coming here, could not possibly profess her love. Not after she’d heard him speak so dispassionately about her.
There would be no words of love exchanged with August. No frantic dash to Gretna Green.
Her marriage to Hartwell would continue as planned.
This night had served only one purpose—it had shown her she would have even less than she had already resigned herself to.
Her betrothed never loved her, nor wanted her. Hartwell would continue taking lovers after their marriage. Their match would never move beyond an emotionless, arranged union.Political. Deliberate. A calculated alliance forged between warring shipping families.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Meghan eased out from behind the shrubs and continued inching back until she collided with the solid glass windows.
How vastly different from the marriage August had once wanted with her sister, and what Linnie now shared with Captain Tremaine—what every married member of her family had.
She dashed the remnants of tears from her cheeks.
Though she had longed for this night, she now yearned only to go home, tear off her gown, collapse into her bed, and sleep for as many days as it took to forget what had happened here.
Alas, Meghan could not remain. She needed to collect Andromena and Fleur and leave before anything worse occurred. A panicked laugh bubbled in her throat. As though that were possible.
She climbed awkwardly to her feet. Perhaps August had gone after some woman he truly desired and left the orangery altogether. The earl had arrived on stealthy steps; it was just as likely he had departed on the same silent ones. In truth, that made the most sense. Given how freely he had shared his touch with those nameless beauties, and the careless way he had spoken of Meghan while she stood there listening, it was highly unlikely he harbored any tender feelings.
Cursing softly, she retrieved her gloves from the tree where she had left them and stepped into the aisle.
Her heart leapt—then plummeted.
August stood there, arms folded across his chest.
“Why,” he purred, his gaze drifting slowly over her, “if it isn’t the bride-to-be herself, Miss Meghan McQuoid-Smith.” His eyes dipped to her neckline. “In the flesh.”
Chapter 4
Culross had been late putting it together.
There had been his mystery beauty’s flight mid-set when they met with Hartwell and his partner.
Then another when Hartwell happened upon them in the orangery.
