“If it is an apology that you are after…”
“Most certainly not,” Lord Westmere assured him. “I admit, the last time we met, I might have let my mouth run away with me. Truly, I am ashamed of what I said, and I just pray you can forgive me.”
“Fine,” Ronan snapped. “If that is all—” He went to step around Lord Westmere.
“I am afraid not.” Lord Westmere moved to block him. “Where I am willing to forgive you for the brutalization, what I am notwilling to forgive is the damage it did to my reputation. A man of your stature can surely understand such things?”
Ronan clenched his jaw. “I suggest you speak carefully, Lord Westmere. Whatever this is… perhaps it is best that you consider what happened the last time you angered me.”
Lord Westmere’s smile faded, and a curl took his lips. “I have been called many things in my life, Your Grace, and the chief among them is petty. I do not take slights well, and never do I let them slide.”
“Careful, now…”
“You are a duke,” he continued. “And even I am not such a fool as to try and take revenge on a man of your…” He chuckled. “Status. Not to mention reputation. I like my head where it is, attached firmly to my shoulders.”
“All the more reason you should turn and leave.”
“And I will…” He held his palms out as if in defense. “But first, there is one thing I need to tell you. A little nugget of information that, as strange as it might sound, I think you might thank me for.”
Ronan said nothing, snarling and scowling at Lord Westmere, while ignoring the way his stomach twisted. They were in public, likely on purpose because Westmere knew firsthand how short Ronan’s temper was. But words could batter, as well as any fist.
“I did a little digging,” he continued affably. “Concerning your wife.”
Ronan stiffened. “Do not mention her name…” His fists started to open and close, the effort not to strike the man taxing beyond reason.
“It was your marriage that concerned me,” he continued simply. “The strange nature of it. Oh, yes, I heard the rumors—or rather, I dug for them. That the two of you were found entangled in the bushes, which I know to be a filthy lie, seeing as I was there just before it happened.”
“How my wife and I came to be engaged is none of your concern.”
“But it isyourconcern,” he pressed, his eyes flashing with delight. “Did you know that your wife has been rather… what is the word? Desperate, yes. Desperate to marry. She was broke, living with her aunt, a daughter that needed protection. Indeed, that evening, if my sources are correct, she attended the ball precisely to find herself a husband.”
Ronan very nearly leapt at the man then and there. But there was something about the way he was smiling… the knowing look in his eyes, that had him hesitating. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing that should not be said,” he continued. “Merely that the luck of it… on your wife’s part, I mean. That she was so clearly desperate for a husband, only to find herself one that verynight. A man who also needed a quick marriage, no matter to whom.”
“I…” Ronan considered, not wanting to give in to the implication. “It was an accident. Thalia fell?—”
“Right into your arms, and at the perfect moment,” he finished for Ronan. “A coincidence, I am sure, that she did so as others were approaching. And how could she have known that doing such a thing would lead to, well…” He shrugged and then chuckled. “Everything that she wanted and more.”
Ronan stared at the man blankly, anger fading, confusion mounting.
“As I said, I am rather petty,” Lord Westmere said with glee. “So petty that I thought it best you heard the truth, as you deserve to hear it. You were had, Your Grace… and I pray that you realize it, as a man of your reputation deserves.”
Ronan still said nothing, staring past Lord Westmere now as the world around him turned.
“It was lovely to run into you,” Lord Westmere said, chuckling along. “Have a nice day, Your Grace. Oh…” He flashed his eyes a final time. “And give my best to your wife.”
He left Ronan after that, not that Ronan noticed.
Ronan was lost in his own head, unable to stop his thoughts from going back to the night he met Thalia. In truth, he hadn’t considered the circumstances that closely until now. The vague memory that he had painted as an accident; no one’s fault—his own fault, if anything. She had collapsed, he had caught her, and they were both found in a most compromising position.
But then more he thought of it…
Thalia had indeed collapsed into him, but for no good reason. And didn’t they hear voices approaching before she had done so? If what Lord Westmere said were true, concerning her desperation to be married, was it possible that she had orchestrated the entire thing?
Ronan’s world turned as the pieces fell into place. He stumbled toward the carriage, grabbing its body to hold himself up. He did not want to consider it. He could not believe it. Not after everything that had happened. Not after that kiss…
But the more he thought about that night, the more he considered Thalia and her daughter and everything he knew of her, the more he was given no choice but to admit to the truth. As horrible, as rotten, as darn despicable as that truth was.
