Page 68 of The Wedding Challenge

“Have you ever heard anything else ill of him?” Callie asked. “Ask anyone, and they will tell you that the Duke of Rochford is a gentleman. He would not seduce a lady and then abandon her, least of all if she was carrying his child. Your sister did not have that child, did she?”

“No. She lost it not long after she married Lord Swithington. But that proves nothing,” he flared. “Women often miscarry.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No, of course not. I was back at Oxford.” He looked stony. “That does not mean it did not happen.”

Callie said nothing, merely looked at him, and after a moment his eyes dropped. But she had seen the doubt that flickered there. She knew that he must be struggling with the dawning realization that what he had believed for the last fifteen years had been a lie, that the sister he loved and trusted had deceived him.

“That does not matter now, anyway,” he said gruffly. “We cannot resolve the matter. It is not ours to worry about.”

“It certainly affects us,” Callie retorted sharply, nettled.

“I know.” He met her gaze squarely this time. “Do not think that I am dismissing the situation in which Daphne has placed you. Whatever her reasons, I know how much she has wronged you, and I refuse to allow you to suffer. That is what we need to be concerned with. We must make sure that your reputation is not damaged.”

“There must be a village nearby—this Lower Upton. They have an inn, surely. I will go there and take a room.”

“Your carriage is gone,” he pointed. “I have a horse in the stable, but he is the only one. You cannot go riding off through strange countryside alone in the middle of the night. He would carry us both, or I could walk alongside you as you rode. But in any case, that would scarcely solve the problem. Whether you arrive after—” he paused and glanced at the clock sitting above the fireplace “—midnight, riding a horse, alone or with a man, and take a room by yourself, it will look exceedingly odd. We are trying to avoid rumors, not engender them.”

“But who is to know?” she argued. “The people of the village do not know me. I will use a false name.”

“It is better that no one even sees you,” he responded flatly. “Does anyone know that you are here?”

“I cannot imagine who would. The messenger brought me this note, and I left straight away in a post chaise he hired. There was no one with me when he arrived, only the servants, and they are very loyal to Francesca. Even Francesca was not there. She had gone on a visit with Aunt Odelia.” She stopped, an odd look crossing her face.

“What?” Bromwell asked. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I just wonder if that, too, was by design. If Francesca had been there when I received the news about Sinclair, she would no doubt have accompanied me, which would have spoiled the plan.”

Bromwell sighed and said, “Lady Odelia is fond of my sister and me. She says we make her laugh. I am sure that your great-aunt would have done nothing to harm you, but if Daphne had artlessly suggested that she go visit someone, and added that Francesca would doubtless love to go with her, she would probably have agreed. She might have guessed that Daphne had something up her sleeve, but I doubt she would have thought that it was anything so ruinous.”

Callie nodded. Furious as she was at what Daphne had tried to do to her, she was almost as resentful about the careless hurt the woman had brought to Bromwell.

“In any case,” she went on briskly, hoping to distract him from the pain of discovering the full unpleasantness of his sister’s character, “Francesca does know where I am and what I was told, for I left a note for her so that she would not worry. But she is the only one, and I am positive that Francesca would never whisper a word that would harm me. I would trust her always.”

“Then if no one sees you in the village, there is no reason why anyone should ever find out you were here,” Bromwell said. “I think there is but one thing to be done. You must spend the night here.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“HERE!” CALLIE EXCLAIMED. “But that would surely ruin my reputation.”

“Who is to know that you were here unless you or I tell them? I assure you, Mrs. Farmington will not say a word for fear of losing her position here. Tomorrow I will ride into town and hire a chaise for you. You can return to London, and no one will be the wiser. Unless—” he looked worried “—Francesca has spread the word about that the duke is injured and here.”

“I do not think she would,” Callie said. “Francesca is no gossip. And I doubt she would have received visitors or gone out tonight. She would have been exhausted from having spent the day with Aunt Odelia. Besides, she will be awaiting word from me about Sinclair’s condition.”

“Good. Then no one will know,” he said.

Callie nodded slowly, thinking about the fact that they would still be alone in this house together. She remembered how the firelight had rippled across his bare chest, turning his skin golden and highlighting the smooth curve of his muscles beneath his skin.

“I promise you, I will do nothing to you,” he told her quietly. “But if it will make you feel easier, I will sleep in the stables, so that you are truly alone in the house. Mrs. Farmington has clearly already returned to her cottage in the village. And you can lock the doors and windows.”

“No, you need not do that.” Callie was not about to tell him that she had been worrying more about the pull of attraction she felt toward him than his trying to have his way with her. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Their eyes held for a moment; then they both looked away, feeling suddenly awkward. Bromwell cleared his throat and glanced about the room, as though he would find some sort of answer there.

“I imagine you would like to get some sleep,” he began finally. “Shall I show you to your room?”