Sarah shook her head. “He slept on our settee last night. Couldn’t even make it up to the guest bedchamber, he was so deep in his cups.”
Meg’s head popped up. “Your settee? Truly?”
“Of course I didn’t tell him where I was off to this morning. Or with whom. He doesn’t deserve to know as far as I’m concerned.”
Meg pulled her reticule off her wrist and set it on the seat next to her. “Thank you, Sarah. You’re a dear friend. What does Christian think of this debacle?”
“You know Christian. He adores Lucy and always has. He’s an admirer of her schemes. He’s convinced it will all work out. I even reminded him of how angry he was with her last year when she inserted herself intoouraffairs.”
Meg sighed. “Christian is a kind soul. I wish your brother was more like him.”
“My brother is a stubborn ass, much as I am. I nearly ruined my future with Christian because I wouldn’t admit I was wrong. I only hope Hart comes to the same realization before it’s too late.”
Meg pressed a hand to her cheek. “It may already be too late.”
“Please don’t say that. I didn’t ask you before because I didn’t want to pry, but now I feel I must. Did you ever tell him what you were going to say to him that night in Lucy’s garden? Did you ever tell him you’ve loved him for years?”
Meg leaned her head back against the seat again andgroaned. “No, and he wouldn’t believe me if I tried. I’ve attempted to tell him several times that he was wrong about what happened in Lucy’s garden. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hear the truth.”
“I’m sorry, Meggie.” Sarah took a deep breath. You may not want to hear it, but the truth is I think you both carry some of the blame. Hart was horribly hurt by Annabelle Cardiff’s treachery and he’s never been one to trust easily. He knows we planned the events in the garden and I cannot entirely fault him for being angry. However, he’s had plenty of time to calm down and hear you out, yet he stubbornly refuses to do so. But you’re being stubborn, too. I think you should tell him you’ve loved him. It has to make a difference.”
Meg stared out the window. Sarah made a good point. Hart wasn’t a complete victim, but neither was she. However, telling him she loved him, especially after he’d been so cavalier about their night together and had run off to meet with his mistress, was too painful to contemplate. What if she told him the truth and he rejected her? She couldn’t bear it.
The only thing she knew for certain was that leaving for Northumbria was the right thing to do. She had to go. For her own sanity. She couldn’t stay with him, give him her body at night, and pretend they barely knew each other during the day. She didn’t know why she thought things would be different once they made love, but they hadn’t been and it broke her heart.
It also made her angrier than she’d ever been. Especially after she saw him with his lover the very next night. The image of Lady Maria brushing the hair away from Hart’s forehead was burned in Meg’s brain.
Meg wouldn’t be like her mother, a wife whosehusband spent more nights in someone else’s bed than her own. On the other hand, she couldn’t give him both her body and her love with nothing in return. She refused to be the laughingstock of theton, everyone knowing her husband spent time with other women.
She needed time to be alone or at least away from Hart. It was lovely of Sarah to not only give her a place to stay, but also come with her and keep her company.
Meg refused to spend any more of her life unwanted and unloved, on the sidelines of every dance, on the sidelines of life.
***
Where the bloody hell was his wife? Hart stomped out of her bedchamber, a note she’d left him crumpled in his hand. He’d come home from Sarah’s house this morning prepared to speak to Meg. He’d known she was angry with him when she’d seen him with Maria last night. How the hell did she know what Maria had been to him in the past? He’d gone in search of Meg soon after she’d left the veranda, only to find she had left the party.
Their night together had been… unforgettable, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall in love. She would destroy him the way his mother had destroyed his father, making him bitter and angry. To that end, he’d refused to chase her around last night. Instead he’d drunk far too much and ended up passed out on his sister’s settee. This morning he was sober and planned to ask Meg why she’d left. He wanted to talk to her, perhaps even explain the scene she’d witnessed. A completely innocent scene, but he could imagine how it must have looked.
But Meg was gone. Her valise was missing and the note she’d left on her bedside table said that she needed some time to herself to… think. What the bloody helldid that mean? She hadn’t even mentioned where she’d gone and he couldn’t guess. Her father didn’t own an estate. Hart’s parents were hardly apt to have allowed her to go to their estate.
Was she staying with friends in town? She wasn’t at Sarah’s. He’d just come from there. The Duchess of Claringdon’s perhaps? Damn it. He’d have to clean himself up and go over to the duchess’s house and fetch his wife. Blast. Blast. Blast. He didn’t know how to be a husband. He was making a bloody muddle of it.
***
Less than an hour later, Hart was sitting in a far-too-delicate chair in the Duchess of Claringdon’s drawing room, staring at a cup of tea he didn’t want, trying to allow enough time to pass before he could politely ask after his wife’s whereabouts. They’d discussed the weather and politics. He had no more patience.
“Where is she?” Hart blurted.
“Who?” Lucy pushed at a dark curl along her forehead.
Hart expelled his breath. The duchess knew damn well who. He didn’t have time for games. “My wife,” he nearly growled.
Lucy took a sip of tea that he’d watched her drop an ungodly amount of sugar into. “Has she gone missing?”
Hart tilted his head to the side and sighed. “I take it she’s not here, then?”
The duchess arched a brow. “Not unless she’s stuck in the silver closet again. I’ll give you the key and you can go look if you like.”
