Page 57

“You learned who I was, and you wrote to me. I fail to see why you take umbrage at the truth.” He turned and picked up his dress coat.

Joshua was right.

Livie was abruptly flattened by that truth.

How could she confess that she thought he’d fallen in love with her? That her problems would become his problems?

What an idiot she had been.

She watched him shrug on his crimson coat, the epaulets of his rank swishing as they settled on his broad shoulders.

His honor came first, of course. Had she learned nothing as her father’s daughter? How could Joshua have helped her father, anyway? She hadn’t thought beyond a plea for support.

That was her first mistake. Why did she ever write to him? She knew that ladies could not write to gentlemen without being branded loose or worse. To be honest, she was loose, because no lady worth the name would crawl into a man’s arms in a wardrobe and let him do … that.

Naturally, he had instantly jumped to the worst conclusion. She was a trollop, and it seemed that was a short step to prostitute, albeit with a payment that had nothing to do with money.

“I thought you might be able to help,” Livie said. “I didn’t think through the implications of my request. I apologize for my misperception.” She fought to keep her voice from wavering. “You’ll be happy to know that I am hereby refusing your proposal of marriage.”

Joshua made an abrupt movement; she fell back a step.

“I made an error. I acknowledge my own foolishness.” She nodded toward the door. “Won’t you please leave first?”

“Next Season—” he began.

“Absolutely not,” she cut in.

“Once your father—”

She cut him off again. “I have received a letter a day during most of my life from a man who thinks my every instinct is wanton at best and debauched at worst. I will never put myself in a situation where I marry a man who thinks me dishonorable.”

“I don’t!” He growled it.

She snorted. “Yes, you do. It was one thing when I played the hussy as your future wife, but when I was also asking for help? I fell from hussy to slut in one fell swoop. So, no, Major FitzRoy, I would prefer never to see or speak to you again, in this Season or the next. Now, leave.”

When she met him, she thought he had molten brown eyes, the kindest, most passionate, most desiring, most admiring eyes she’d ever seen.

Now they were flat and ice-cold.

He bowed. “Miss Tyron.”

The door closed behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

After a few sustaining gulps of brandy, Frederick returned to the corridor and propped himself up next to the duchess’s sitting room; if an amorous couple came looking for privacy, he would warn them off.

His location conveniently allowed him to avoid ladies who wished to dance, whether in the ballroom or the bedroom. He’d passed the point of being able to negotiate a quadrille at least an hour ago, and he wasn’t interested in setting up a new mistress. He was hazily staring into space when a lady in a scarlet domino emerged from the ladies’ retiring room next door.

She had to be Joshua’s lady’s cousin, the second lady in red.

When she neared him, he slid out a leg to block her way, risking tumbling on his arse.

“Sir?” The cousin drew herself up like an indignant hen about to fluff her feathers and squawk up a storm. Up close, she was small but luscious—a peach of a girl. That silly masquerade veil didn’t hide her deep lower lip.

“I’m Major FitzRoy’s brother,” he said, without bothering to fuss about introductions.

“Oh.” She scowled at him. “Where is Major FitzRoy?”