as their mother.
You will change your mind on that, she had told him, when our daughters come of age.
Even after all he had done to ruin her life and trample her heart and destroy her innocence, William Gerard had returned to Renwick—and he still wanted her. She knew she should summon a carriage and go home before she did something she would genuinely regret. She did not wish to join the dismal ranks of the legendary mistresses of Dredthorne and go mad.
Oh, but she could beat that horrid, spiteful swine of a man until his skull cracked, and never lose another moment’s peace over it.
Yanking open the door, Jennet walked out into the cold night air. It made every breath she took too sharp for comfort, but she welcomed the chill. Hopefully it would erase this blazing flush that had crawled up her neck into her face. Quickly she marched down the steps, determined to put as much distance between her and her tormentor as she could until she calmed.
How could he do this to her? She had been finished with him. Done. He had been forgotten entirely.
You came here hoping to see him, her sensibility whispered. Admit it.
Jennet came to the end of the paved pathway sooner than she expected, and stopped to survey her surroundings. Idly she fanned herself as she considered her prospects. She might continue through the fields beyond, for the moon had bathed them in silvery light. The shadowy outlines of a small building to her right suggested it to be a hot house, where she might conceal herself until her temper subsided, and she felt more like herself again. Even now her nape tingled madly, as if he were standing just behind her–
Jennet spun around to see the straw man striding rapidly toward her. She would have to keep up the pretense another moment, it seemed.
“Return to the ball, sir,” she told him, closing her fan with a snap. She felt proud of the haughty indifference in her tone. “I have finished with readings for the night.”
He came too close, and caught her arm when she would have passed around him. First he pulled away her mask, tossing it aside, and then tugged off the sacking shrouding his head. That confirmed her suspicions irrefutably.
Greystone was the straw man.
Jennet took in the measure of her former love. He seemed much older than the young man she had known. New lines bracketed his mouth and rayed out from the corners of his eyes; a small scar divided one of his winged brows. Streaks of silver glinted in the black hair at his temples, making him look more like this father than ever. The beard shadow that blued his jawline appeared quite heavier. His mouth had thinned and grown harder; his eyes had become hooded. He had been everything handsome when he had promised to wed her, but now he looked too big and battered to be William Gerard.
What he looked like was dangerous.
“Miss Reed.”
“Baron Greystone.” Jennet would not curtsey to him even if all of her leg bones snapped, but there was no one to witness her rudeness. “Pray excuse me. My friends will be wondering where I have got to.”
“A moment, please.” His voice had grown softer and deeper over the years, and brushed like silk velvet against her ears. “I wish to speak to you.”
Of course, he did. What he assumed he had was her interest, which she should squash this moment. “We have nothing to say to each other, sir.”
“You need only listen.” He hesitated before he took his hand from her arm. “I apologize, Miss Reed, for leaving you at the church. Please understand that I never intended to do you harm.”
Sorry. He was sorry.
Jennet stared at him. For the life of her she could not imagine why he would say such a thing. The man who had fled Renwick for parts unknown, never to return until tonight, thought he must now express regret to her. The lover who had convinced her to accept his heart before smashing hers so thoroughly, had decided to offer an apology. The cad who left her to face alone their families and friends and neighbors without even an inkling as to why he had fled, felt remorseful. Never mind that he had treated her with such contempt. He imagined these words would be enough to make up for what he had done to her. After all this time.
She had not gone mad. He had.
Almost as if