Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,67
your mind to something else immediately.”
Her scold forced him to get hold of himself. He closed his eyes and did turn his mind to something else. Her.
“That’s better.” She almost sounded happy.
He kept his eyes closed and saw her in that red silk dress from last night. “Did you tell him about your inheritance?”
“No.”
“Just as well. He would have lied to you, then, and pretended undying love if you had.”
“And I would have believed him, because I wanted to. I didn’t tell him because I was afraid he would assume the duke and I—and he assumed the same of me anyway.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “You are beautiful and desirable and far more than halfway clever, Rosamund. You are too good for him and are well rid of him.”
She looked up at him. “Do you promise not to call him out?”
“If you insist.” He pressed a kiss on her brow, in reassurance.
Surprise flexed over her expression. He wondered if she had returned to this hotel thinking herself unworthy of any man. If so, damn the blackguard.
He kissed her again, on the cheek, then the lips. He pulled her closer and held her head so the kiss could linger a short while.
Then, being such a good sort—a gentleman by Zeus—he stood and walked back to the terrace windows.
* * *
Rosamund spent the rest of the evening alone in her chambers. She had a meal sent up and told the maid to leave her alone.
All kinds of thoughts ran through her mind. Perhaps she should see if Mr. Sanders could find a way out of her lease. She didn’t need such a house now. She could probably tell those tutors she would not have lessons too. The whole plan had been about Charles, and now all of it seemed very foolish to her.
As night fell, she turned her mind to her shops and found solace in making plans for them. Even so, the shock of her meeting with Charles weighed on her. She no longer mourned, but she continued to feel adrift and ridiculous and—soiled. It reminded her of the night Philip Radnor had assaulted her, only today, Charles had done it with his words and manner.
That she had loved him, and had carried that love to the meeting, made it far worse than Philip.
She prepared for bed, then lay there unable to sleep. She realized that Charles had taken more than a girlish dream from her today. A big corner of her soul felt empty. She was not sure that she knew herself anymore.
She wished she had never looked for Charles. Never sought him out. She could have continued as she was, believing what she chose. She could have pretended the inheritance might make her a lady and enjoyed Paris for the rest of this visit. She might have remained excited about all the new changes she was making in her life.
A sound came in the terrace window. She had left hers open to air out the sitting room. Now, she heard the mechanism on another window as a neighboring patron shut and locked his.
That would be Kevin, she guessed. He had been very kind. He had wasted a whole day on her, waiting for her return, then comforting her. It was not the sort of thing one expected of him. He always seemed so indifferent to social niceties. Even last night, during the dinner with Monsieur Forestier, while no more than pleasantries were exchanged, she could tell that Kevin grew impatient for more important conversation.
This afternoon, however, he had known just what to say. You are beautiful and desirable and far more than halfway clever. You are too good for him.
She believed he meant it because she doubted he ever bothered to lie that way. At least he meant it when he said it. She had clung to that good opinion of her, to hold herself steady.
Now, lying in her bed, she did so again. She allowed herself to think about her experiences in this city. Last night’s dinner, with Monsieur Forestier’s flattery. Her discovery of those unusual notions for her shops. Kisses and pleasure on a dark bridge while streetlamps reflected from the ripples of the river below.
She had experienced such joy in those embraces. Pleasure too, but she mostly remembered a lightness of spirit and a glory in being herself. Walking away had not been easy, but to have continued would have betrayed Charles, or so she had believed.