“Of course I liked it,” she said as she clenched her jaw and balled her hands into two tight fists. “The problem is that you methodically seduced me in the most calculating way and with no thought of anyone but yourself. You knew I’d be putty in your hands. You knew that I would be unable to turn you away and that I would have allowed you to do as you wished without thought for the consequences. I didn’t, because no one has ever made me feel the way you do—as if nothing else exists but you. Except now the moment is gone and I have to face reality again, only now it’s worse thanks to you. You should have stopped when I still had the will to say no.”
“Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “And I would have if you had repeated the request or even sounded more convincing. But then you started begging for more and I... I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
A sad laughter erupted from Isabella’s throat.
Overstepped?
You could say that again.
“Please let me go,” she said, tugging a little at her arms. He released her slowly and with obvious reluctance, and she bent down to pick up her basket.
“I should have compromised you completely,” he muttered, taking what little calm she’d retained and snapping it in two.
Rising to her feet with her basket in hand, she resisted the urge to strike him and glared back at him with pure fury instead. “How dare you!”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No, I don’t believe you are. You were a rake once, so I don’t believe it would be beneath you to take a woman’s innocence if it served your own agenda.” She watched as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, but he didn’t respond, so she turned away instead.
“The gown,” he suddenly said. “The one you wore to the ball. Where did you get it?”
Pausing in the doorway, she looked steadily back at him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I’m just curious, considering that it did seem rather expensive and—”
“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said. “My mother bought it a long time ago, from a peddler, if you must know.” She refused to allow him to see just how humiliating she found this admission, for it only served to compound how different her world was from his. Keeping her back rigid, she raised her chin before saying, “If that is all, I have some flowers that I must deliver to my aunt, and if it’s not too much trouble, I should like to ask that you refrain from contacting me again. I hope that you will respect at least that much.” And then she left.
Anthony stood there for a long moment just watching the door through which she’d departed. If he could only hang himself up under the rafters and give himself a good flogging. He’d acted abominably and completely without thought for what she would think or of what the consequences might be.
It hadn’t been his intention for it to turn out the way it had, but he’d stupidly allowed himself to get carried away. What the hell was he going to do now? He’d turned a difficult situation into an unsalvageable one. It was a mess, and he was to blame. He was the one who had taken a moment that should have been precious to both of them and used it as a means by which to prove his superiority over Mr. Roberts—and in the most primitive way possible. He was a cad—a complete and utter cad—and he loathed himself.
Grumbling a string of self-deprecating oaths, he strode across the floor, yanked the door open and stepped out into the sunshine. He didn’t even bother to look for Isabella, knowing well enough that she would be long gone by now. Christ, he needed a drink, and then he would find his mother and confess everything. That was precisely the sort of punishment he deserved after acting so despicably, though on second thought an account of his escapade would surely offend his mother’s sensibilities. Perhaps he’d talk to Winston instead. Yes, Winston would give him the proper lashing he deserved—he was absolutely certain of it.
Chapter 18
Isabella started at the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. It had been two days since she’d walked away from Anthony after their tryst in the barn, the thought of which still sent waves of heat rushing through her.Blasted man. She’d arrived home after delivering the daffodils to her aunt and had immediately removed herself to her room, too angry to enjoy the company of even her own family.
“Enter,” she said, expecting to see Marjorie carrying a tray of food or tea or some other substance meant to soothe her.
To her astonishment, the door opened to reveal her father instead, his expression most grave as he glanced around the small space she inhabited before meeting her gaze. “It can’t possibly be good for you to remain cooped up in here,” he said. “I’d like you to come and join us for supper.”
“Thank you, Papa, but I fear I must decline. You see, I’m not feeling at all well and would much rather remain in bed.” However, her voice did not sound weak, as it should have if she’d truly been ailing, but clipped with frustration instead.
“I see,” he muttered. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose this decline in health would have anything to do with a certain duke?”
“Not at all,” Isabella murmured, hoping he’d believe her.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, right on cue.
Isabella sighed. “I never should have gone to that ball,” she said as she pulled a blanket across her shoulders and nodded toward a chair, prompting her father to sit, which he did. “Now I ...” She shook her head. “Everything’s such a terrible mess, Papa.”
Her father expelled a deep breath. “You really like him, don’t you?” he asked.
Isabella reluctantly nodded. As angry as she still was with Anthony’s seduction, she couldn’t deny what was in her heart.
“And you don’t care much for Mr. Roberts at all, do you?” he pressed.
“Not in the least,” she confessed, not daring to look her father in the eye—afraid of the disappointment she’d see there.
