Heiress in Red Silk, Hunter, Madeline [good beach reads TXT] 📗

long years. She could not say that now. He had already let her know that her dream had been built on air, not anything real.

How had she lied to herself all this time? When they were lovers she had been ignorant, but she no longer was. She knew about men. He had not made any attempt to find her, and she was more easily discovered than he had been.

Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.

“It is exactly what I think,” he said with a vague sneer. “At least you are being kept, and it sounds as if you have a lucrative arrangement. You at least have spared me any concerns that men were taking you under bridges. I’m glad for your good fortune, Rosamund. Play your cards right and maybe next year it will be the duke himself.”

His words shocked her like so many slaps. One after another they came, ugly and hurtful. She lost her hold on her emotions, and with them her pride.

“It is not what you think,” she cried. “There has been no one but you. No one. I waited for you all this time. You said you would come for me. That we would be together. I believed you. I looked for you. And all you can do now is insult me.”

“Lower your voice and get hold of yourself. You had to know I could never come for you. That it was over from the moment when I got into the carriage that day. My family would never have accepted you. Even in your finery now, they wouldn’t.” He removed a handkerchief from his frock coat and gave it to her.

She dabbed at her tears. “You are horrid to say these things.”

“I apologize. However, you are better off with this Radnor than with me, that is certain. I could never give you a house on that street.”

He didn’t believe her. He thought she was dressed like this because she was a man’s mistress. He assumed Kevin was merely the last of a series of protectors.

She closed her eyes. She forced control over the anger building in her. She ignored for now the heavy, mourning heart in her chest. She gave him back the handkerchief. “You did not have to seduce me. You did not have to ruin me. Why did you, if you did not love me?”

“You are not an innocent, so you know why. You were lovely, fresh, and sweet, and I was randy as hell. Although—” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers along her damp cheek. “The lovely girl has become a ravishing woman. If I had known you would grow into what you are today, I might well have looked for you. Before this Radnor found you.”

His touch lured her, but his words insulted her again. If I had known you were going to whore for a man, I might have considered having you whore for me.

She stared at him, trying to remember the Charles of her memories. She doubted the man in front of her had ever felt the love and joy he had shown in her dream.

She did not trust herself to control how anger sent hot branches out of her pain. She needed to get away from him before fury made her a madwoman.

“I must go. Is there a garden portal in front? Yes? I will leave that way. I apologize for intruding.”

As she walked away, she concentrated on keeping her expression calm and her back straight. She did not want him or anyone else to see just how humiliated she felt, or the desolation that threatened to engulf her.

Chapter Fourteen

The crash broke through his dream. He started, then stared at the wall. It had come from Rosamund’s suite.

Another crash, and the tinkling sound of something falling. Glass, or china. Then nothing.

He rose from the chair where he had fallen asleep awaiting Rosamund’s return, so he could tell her about the rest of his conversation with Forestier last night. The light filtering into his chamber told him it was late afternoon.

A deep moan came through the wall, low and long, like someone in pain. Alarmed, he strode to the door. Perhaps she had not returned in good time because she had been hurt.

He knocked on Rosamund’s door. Silence. He waited, listening for footsteps. The silence gave up nothing.

He wondered if he had been mistaken. Upon returning to his chamber, he stood still and listened again. When the barest noise penetrated the wall, he went to it and pressed his ear against the plaster.

He was close to concluding his abrupt awakening had left his senses befuddled when he heard something. A wrenching sob, muffled by the wall, followed by a curse.

She hadn’t opened the door, so she must want privacy. Well, to hell to that.

He walked out to the terrace, climbed up onto the balustrade, and jumped the four feet to the one that surrounded Rosamund’s balcony. He dropped down onto her terrace.

Through the glass, he could see her on the edge of the divan, her body folded so her face rested on both hands. The crown of her head hovered over her lap. No sounds came to him through the glass, but her body careened back and forth enough to alarm him.

He didn’t knock this time. He turned the latch and entered.

Her body stilled. After a few sniffs, her hands fell to her lap. She did not straighten. She did not look at him.

“Are you unwell?” he asked. “Were you hurt in some way?”

She found enough composure to sit erectly. She sniffed again and wiped her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief clutched in one hand. She still did not look at him.

She spoke quietly, just above a whisper. “I have not been physically harmed. There was no accident with the carriage, or a theft of my person.” She smiled ruefully. “I am mourning someone—something. Do not be concerned.”

She appeared so damned sad. Her eyes still glistened from her tears and her expression broke his heart. He ventured