Page 76 of The Wedding Challenge

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” she told him, her smile cool and composed.

Rochford made a perfunctory bow to everyone and strode out of the room.

“If you ladies will excuse us, Callie and I would like to freshen up a bit before we leave,” Francesca said, going over to loop her arm through Callie’s.

The two of them smiled at the other women and left the room. Callie carefully avoided looking at Bromwell, afraid that something of what had happened between them would show in her face. She and Francesca went up the staircase, Francesca’s arm keeping Callie to a slower pace.

When they reached the top of the staircase, out of sight of those below, Francesca released her arm, and Callie sagged against the wall.

“Oh, Francesca,” she whispered.

Francesca shook her head and led her farther down the hallway. “Do you have a bag or anything?” she asked quietly.

Callie nodded, answering her in the same hushed voice, “Yes, it’s in here.”

She thought in that instant of what had happened in that room the night before, and a blush stained her cheeks. Brom’s discarded clothes were still scattered about the floor.

“I will get it,” she said quickly, and hurried into the room.

She was back in a moment, carrying her bag. “How will we explain this? Perhaps I should just toss it out the window or stuff it in a closet here.”

Francesca shook her head. “We shall brazen it out. That is usually the best policy.”

She took the bag from Callie and started down the stairs. About halfway down, she began in a carrying voice, “I am so glad, Callie, that we thought to bring in one of my bags. It is so difficult to put oneself in order without one’s brush and hairpins. Do not you agree?”

“Yes, very much,” Callie agreed, hiding a smile. Trust Francesca.

“This is such a charming abode, Lord Bromwell,” Francesca went on as they stepped into the foyer, not giving anyone else time to speak. “Has it always been in your family?”

“It is my sister’s,” Bromwell said. “It belonged to her late husband.”

“Ah, I see.” Francesca turned toward Daphne. “How kind of you, Lady Swithington, to lend it to him. But, then, you are always thinking of others.”

The gaze Daphne turned on Francesca was full of venom, but Francesca merely smiled at her and turned to Callie. “We had best be on our way, lest the duke grow impatient.” She cast a droll look toward Mrs. Cathcart, adding, “Men so dislike having their plans interrupted, I have found. Do you not agree, Mrs. Cathcart?”

“Indeed, Lady Haughston,” the other woman replied. “That is invariably the way. I am sorry to see you leave so soon, before we have had a chance to chat, but I quite understand.”

“Just let me get my pelisse, and we will be out of your way,” Francesca said, and walked back through the house to the kitchen.

She returned a moment later, carrying her reticule and wearing a dark blue pelisse over her dress. Callie quickly snatched up her cloak from the bench where Brom had dropped it the evening before, and the two women turned toward the door.

“I will walk you out,” Lord Bromwell said, coming up beside them.

“There is no need,” Callie murmured, forcing herself to look at him and hoping that there was nothing in her face that reflected the emotions whirling around inside her.

“I insist,” he said shortly, stopping all argument, and offered her his arm.

Just looking at his face made her want to smile and weep, all at once. She wanted to reach up and soothe his cheek where Rochford’s blow had cut him. She ached to kiss his lips one last time and to throw her arms around him. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. But here in front of the others, she could do none of the things she wanted to. For all their sakes, she must keep up the charade they had started. All she could do was smile politely and take his arm, as if he were nothing more than an acquaintance.

They bade goodbye to the other two women. Mrs. Cathcart was clearly quite pleased at their encounter, for she was not one who normally moved in the elite circle that Lady Haughston and the Lilles family occupied. Lady Swithington appeared far less pleased. The smile she gave them looked as though it might break her face, and the blue eyes above it were charged with resentment. Callie’s feelings toward her were, frankly, quite as unfriendly, and her nod and farewell to the woman were as brief as possible.

They walked out the front door, leaving Lady Swithington and Mrs. Cathcart behind. Callie was supremely aware of Bromwell’s large body beside her; her hand trembled a little on his arm. Francesca’s carriage was emerging from the barn, the duke walking beside it, and Francesca began to move toward it, discreetly leaving Callie alone with Lord Bromwell for a moment.

“Callie, I—” he began.

“No, don’t, please,” she said in a choked voice, turning her face up to gaze at him. She was afraid that she would begin to cry, but she had to take a last look at him. Deep inside, where the cold, hard knot in her chest resided, she knew that she would not see him again.

Despite what his sister had done, she feared that he would never turn his back on Daphne. She was his flesh and blood, whereas Callie was…indeed, she did not even know what she was to the man. They had shared a night of incredible passion, but he had said no words of love or commitment. And she was the sister of a man he had despised for years, a man with whom he had been exchanging punches less than an hour ago.