Page 57 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Lady Marce Davenport, the woman who had never so much as wavered in her promise to him.

Rowan scrubbed at his face. So much time had been wasted traveling the country and other lands…for nothing. All it did was take him away from his mother, let him run from his past, and keep him from addressing and fixing his own personal failings.

Any misfortune that came now, Rowan deserved.

His mother’s scorn.

Tobias’s contempt.

Marce’s hatred.

He’d been playing with fire all these years, and he’d allowed it to consume him and everything he cared about. He was a foolish man. Claiming status as a gentleman was something out of his reach.

Perhaps the time had come to return to Hadlow Estate, throw himself at his mother’s feet, and beg for her forgiveness. Could she look past his deceptions without Rowan telling her of his father’s betrayals?

Crushing his mother’s heart twice was not Rowan’s intent, and his father was not solely to blame for the decisions Rowan had made since Julian’s death.

Rowan heard a knock at the front door.

His head popped up as he listened. Certainly, he was mistaken. It was long past midnight, and everyone, even Tobias, was abed until morning. The Cresthaven butler had greeted him at the door how long ago? Glancing at the clock, Rowan noted that it was indeed after one in the morning. He’d wallowed in self-pity for over two hours…finding solace at the bottom of his cups. Yet, he hadn’t had nearly enough to cast a cloud of fog over his thoughts, to diminish his guilt and remorse—or to ignore the pounding that became more and more demanding as the seconds passed.

Had Tobias gone out and forgotten his key? It was the earl’s home, after all, and he owed Rowan no explanation about his comings and goings; however, Tobias had insisted on retiring early. He’d sought his private chamber long before Rowan had departed to keep watch on Craven House.

With a deep sigh, Rowan pushed from his chair, expecting his head to swim or his eyes to lose focus from the sudden movement, but his senses remained stellar as he departed the study on course for the front door.

“Halt your incessant pounding,” he growled, surprised to notice that his headache had receded. “You shall wake the entire household.”

If he didn’t stop whoever was at the door, not only would his headache return, but the entire Cresthaven staff would come running.

Rowan threw the latch that kept the door bolted during the nighttime hours and opened the door wide, a rebuff on the tip of his tongue for whoever sought to invade his midnight musings.

He sucked in a deep breath, and the target of his reveries gasped, stepping back in alarm.

The night was dark, and with her hood covering the golden crown of her hair and hanging low to obscure her face, Rowan could not see her clearly. Perhaps his eyes deceived him, and it was not Marce who stood before him but another woman.

Lavender invaded his every sense.

It was the scent that had clung to her on every occasion they met, though he hadn’t noticed how innately Marce the fragrance was until their last stay at Hadlow.

There was no doubt who stood before him, though her long, hooded cloak kept her fully shrouded.

“Marce?” The single word escaped as a breathy whisper.

She lifted her chin as her hands rose to push the hood from her head, revealing her tightly bound blonde curls, and striking blue eyes. She was petite, but her presence filled the space. Her chin lifted as her eyes met his in challenge, and her hands were clasped before her. The sleeves of her cloak were so long, they nearly hid her intertwined fingers from view, but he only needed a quick moment to notice that her hands shook.

Marce was here for a purpose, and her nervousness was hard to hide, despite the confidence in her stare.

He wanted to call out to her again, beg her to speak whatever she’d come to say and plead with her to forgive him. However, her name on his lips wasn’t right. Rowan didn’t deserve the privilege of saying it, let alone throwing himself at her feet and begging for forgiveness.

The depth of his deception struck him again. He was a black-hearted scoundrel, a man deserving no kindness or compassion—as he’d shown her none in her time of need. He’d used her weakness against her for years, exploiting her need to care for her family and keep them safe, fed, and housed. He’d lied to himself all these years, as well, until he actually believed he’d forced her to accept his proposition to provide comfort for his ailing mother.

It was his grandest lie of all.

And he’d told it to himself.

Her lips pressed together tightly as her stare traveled down his body and then moved back to meet his no doubt widened gaze. “Are you going to invite me in, Your Grace?”

Chapter 25