“I do not blame meself—myself—for falling in love back then, or for believing in him. I blame myself for not seeing the truth of it for five long years. For holding on to a dream that had no substance. I should have known better long ago. I’m usually halfway clever at least.”
Give me his name so I can go thrash him.It would serve no purpose, but he would enjoy it immensely. “Did you see him today? Is that why you were weeping?”
“I’m sorry to say I did. I had Minerva find him for me. I intruded on your journey here so I could have a reunion with him. Only—it was not what I expected.” She laughed sadly. “Minerva warned me. I didn’t listen. I was so sure, you see.”
He could tell her composure wobbled again. He ventured the smallest kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry you were disappointed.”
“That was the least of it.” She turned in his arm and looked at him. “He saw my fine ensemble. He noted the street on my card. He learned you were a friend. He noticed my better speech now, and found it odd Lily was in a school. All the things I thought would make me worthy of him, he took as evidence that—that—”
“He said as much?”
She nodded, then dropped her head back on his shoulder.
“I do not know this man, but I already do not like him,” he said, unable to remain silent now that it was clear she had been grievously insulted today. “Not only because he made you cry, although that is a big reason. Forgive my frankness if you still have feelings for him, but he is a scoundrel. He seduced an innocent who was in the care of his own family, turned her head, implied marriage would follow, then left her to make her own way after ruining her. He made no attempt to make amends later, or to ensure you had even survived. Then you turn up, still innocent in your own way, and he insults you.”
She turned halfway through his tirade and watched him. It was her turn to place a little kiss on the cheek of someone who had lost their composure. “There is no reason for you to be angry with him,” she said. “You don’t know him.”
“More’s the pity. Give me his name.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to call him out.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t. That is dangerous.”
“Not for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Men like him are too conceited and lazy to practice enough. I, on the other hand, have spent many hours over many years perfecting my skill.” He saw how alarmed she appeared. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill him. His name, now.”
“No. No, no,no.” She smacked his shoulder with each denial. “I am touched that you want to fight for my honor, but it won’t do. I regret now confiding in you, if you are going to even think of doing that. Turn your mind to something else immediately.”
Her scold forced him to get hold of himself. He closed his eyes and did turn his mind to something else. Her.
“That’s better.” She almost sounded happy.
He kept his eyes closed and saw her in that red silk dress from last night. “Did you tell him about your inheritance?”
“No.”
“Just as well. He would have lied to you, then, and pretended undying love if you had.”
“And I would have believed him, because I wanted to. I didn’t tell him because I was afraid he would assume the duke and I—and he assumed the same of me anyway.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “You are beautiful and desirable and far more than halfway clever, Rosamund. You are too good for him and are well rid of him.”
She looked up at him. “Do you promise not to call him out?”
“If you insist.” He pressed a kiss on her brow, in reassurance.
Surprise flexed over her expression. He wondered if she had returned to this hotel thinking herself unworthy of any man. If so, damn the blackguard.
He kissed her again, on the cheek, then the lips. He pulled her closer and held her head so the kiss could linger a short while.
Then, being such a good sort—a gentleman by Zeus—he stood and walked back to the terrace windows.
* * *
