“Miss Oliver. Of course, I’m delighted to see you,” he said stiffly. “And how is your good mother? Am I to give you congratulations on a proposal from Mr. Pilkington?”
The light left her eyes. Her hopeful smile faltered, wobbled, and fled. Her hand outstretched, as if to touch him, fell to her side.
“I don’t understand. Why are you being like this?”
Lady Roslyn sauntered toward them. “It’s very simple, sweet girl. This is no common Mr. Smith. This is Lord Dane Walker, heir presumptive to the dukedom of Rydell and a known rake. You’ve had the wool pulled over those big blue eyes,” she drawled.
“Lord Dane Walker. Heir presumptive to the dukedom of Rydell. That can’t be true!”
He’d wanted to hear her say his real name. Say it with gladness when he did something to make her smile. Breathe it huskily as he pleasured her.
This was all so dreadfully wrong.
His shoulders tensed, and his hands balled into fists. He hadn’t wanted her to find out like this, in a room full of people. He should have told her. He never should have lied to her. “It’s true, I’m afraid. I was called away suddenly from Squalton-on-Sea to attend my brother, who suffered a carriage accident and died.”
“Then...” Her eyes narrowed. “Then, you lied to me?”
“Everyone in Squalton hates my family. I had to hide my identity.”
“But the time we spent together. You could have told me then. But you were...” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You were using me as your guide to Squalton and a way inside the manor without revealing your identity.”
Hating himself more with every word he uttered, he pasted a mocking smile on his lips. “You do see the awkwardness there would have been if I’d used my real name. ‘The bloody blasted Duke of Rydell, may ’e damn well rot in ’ell,’ and all that.”
Dudley laughed. “Bloody blasted Duke of Rydell. I like that.”
With each word her face changed. A wrinkle appeared between her brows, her cheeks flushed,and tears misted her eyes. And then the hurt in her eyes hardened to fury.
“I see. I see exactly. You’re nothing but a charlatan and a scoundrel!”
He wanted to beg her forgiveness. Fall at her feet. Instead he crossed his arms across his chest. “You’re not the first lady to brand me so.”
“And she won’t be the last, eh?” Kenwick said with a mocking laugh.
Titters from the Pink Ladies. Shocked stares from the people around them.
“I wish I’d never met you at all!” She grabbed Lady Roslyn’s glass of punch and threw it in his face before running through the crowd toward the exit.
Sticky pink liquid dripped down his face and stung his eyes as his friends erupted into howls of laughter.
“Temper, temper!” Dudley wagged his finger at her retreating back.
“She told you,” Kenwick said with an amused chortle.
“Miss Oliver, wait!” Miss Francesca McGovern called. She glared at Dane. “Now see what you’ve done!” She ran after Sandrine.
“That was the famous young lady from the seashore?” Somersby chuckled. “Safe to say she won’t be pining for you any longer.”
Lady Roslyn smirked and clapped her hands together slowly. “Well done, my lord. Your reputation as a Rake of the First Order is intact.”
I wish I’d never met you at all.
Dane wiped punch out of his eyes with a handkerchief. He’d made Sandrine angry, made her cry. Humiliated her publicly.
He’d done what he had to do.
Drive her away. Mock her. Make her hate him.
No woman would stay to endure more of that. She’d leave London immediately.
