The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,57

from a fiancé who, if he had any sense, might see some advantage in smothering the scandal. After a week with the Derwents, she was under no illusion how far the delicious morsel of gossip about prim Mrs. Martin spreading her legs for that libertine Lord Bruard would travel. A morsel made even more delicious, now it included the spicy addition of the lady’s betrothed catching her in the seducer’s company.

She wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Shame and fear placed an iron band around her chest, a band that tightened with every second and threatened to cut off her breathing. After the accident, she was sore and stiff, but her physical discomfort didn’t come near to matching the rank wretchedness seething in her belly.

Black spots clouded her vision. She realized she was on the verge of fainting – which would lacerate her pride worse than crying. A sharp pain from her lungs reminded her to suck in some air. Her sight cleared, but that offered no relief. Devastation lay in every direction, and she wanted to die of humiliation.

Since Gerald was born, she’d done her best to be a good mother. She’d protected him as far as she could from the effects of his father’s excesses. She’d offered him secure and steady love. She’d tried to teach him right from wrong.

Now the almighty scandal about to break over her head would make her son think that his mother was a round-heeled slut. It didn’t matter that when Brock touched her, she felt purer than she’d ever felt in her life. She was just another empty-headed strumpet who had succumbed to Lord Bruard’s fatal charm. That her stupidity had cost her a marriage to one of the richest men in England provided even greater fodder for tattle. From Land’s End to John o’Groats, people would snicker and point their fingers and click their tongues in delighted disapproval.

Selina’s fingers clenched in her skirts until the knuckles shone white. She didn’t know how she could bear the anguish to come.

Even worse, she’d lose her son. Without Cecil, she had no money to support Gerald. Even if she did, his trustees would insist on removing him from her dangerous influence. His grandmother would take him and subject him to the same suffocating treatment that had turned Roderick into a wastrel.

My darling boy, I’m so very sorry.

Selina couldn’t imagine he’d understand. He was too young. And once he left her, the talk would convince him that his mother was a whore. He’d grow up to hate her.

God forgive her, how on earth could she have done this terrible thing?

A cry of distress rose in her throat. Struggling to maintain a dignified silence, she fisted her hands even tighter in her skirts.

The silence in the carriage vibrated with hostility. Poor Erskine looked like he was in terrible pain, and as if he wished he’d stayed behind with Brock’s horses. She couldn’t blame him. Lord Derwent regarded her as if she was mud beneath his feet. Which was the height of hypocrisy, given that his long-term mistress had been a guest at the recent house party. The highborn ladies might have turned their noses up at Selina, but her presence hadn’t restrained their gossiping tongues.

She flinched. Gossiping tongues that would soon flap with tales of the rake, the social-climbing Midas, and the wanton widow.

Cecil sat fuming in the corner. His large body seemed to swell, until it took up more than its share of space. Even unspoken, his rage threatened to blister her skin.

"We’re almost at the inn," Derwent said in a distant voice.

Selina should be relieved, but she was sickly aware that once she reached the Blue Wagon, the rest of her life would start. Right now, even the prospect of traveling forever with a livid Cecil and a contemptuous Lord Derwent was preferable to facing up to the unholy mess she’d made of everything.

As she turned away from the window, she made the mistake of catching Cecil’s eye. He glared at her as if he hated her. What else did she expect?

But since the accident, curiosity had eaten at her. At last, she dared to ask the question that puzzled her. "Why are you here? I thought you were heading north to see your mill managers."

A sneer twisted his thick lips. "And I thought you were going back to London to prepare for our wedding. It seemed we were both mistaken." His sarcasm turned vicious. "I was indeed mistaken in the virtuous