The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,104
inside him, and he was swamped by powerlessness, a feeling he’d hated since he was a boy.
Realizing that his aunt was awaiting a reply, he clipped out, “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” She raised her brows. “One would think you would have more of a reaction to Francesca’s success. She has wasted no effort, you know, and all to please you.”
“I know,” he said, his jaw clenching.
I know that I’m a damned bastard. That she deserves better than me.
“For heaven’s sake, did the two of you have a row?”
He swung a surprised glance at his aunt. She wasn’t the sort to pry into private matters. A trait they had in common.
“Why do you ask?” he said as calmly as he could.
“You are acting strangely, and Francesca has been giving you what is known amongst us ladies as the cold shoulder.” Aunt Esther gave him a hard stare. “Don’t look so surprised, Knighton. When Brambley was alive, he received his share.”
Not knowing what to say, Severin kept his mouth shut.
“Hopefully your gift of the necklace improves the state of affairs,” Aunt Esther said reprovingly. “Time may heal wounds, but jewelry accomplishes the task faster.”
Severin wished he shared his aunt’s confidence. The ruby necklace he’d given Fancy was a stunning piece to be sure, a string of rubies and diamonds that matched her ring. But he knew Fancy wasn’t the sort of woman to be swayed by gifts. She would want an apology from him, which she undoubtedly deserved…but he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t understand why he had treated her so shabbily.
Besides, a woman who loved as wholeheartedly as Fancy deserved the same in return. Not some bauble, no matter how expensive, left on her dressing table by her cowardly fool of a husband.
“Good evening, Lady Brambley. Knighton.”
Imogen’s voice distracted him from his brooding. He turned, and she was standing there, in a pale blush gown that accentuated her fair fragility.
“You look well this evening, Lady Brambley,” Imogen said in her impeccable way.
“As do you, Lady Cardiff.” Aunt Esther waved her dark fan. “No husband this eve?”
Imogen’s smile had a taut edge. “Cardiff had other plans, alas. He is in such demand.”
“I see.” Aunt Esther aimed another hard look at Severin. “While a fashionable man does not live in his wife’s pocket, I daresay a wise man doesn’t tempt fate by leaving her to her own devices too long.”
Severin translated her unsubtle message: make amends to your own wife, you idiot.
“Knighton, might I have a word with you?” Imogen asked.
Picking up on the urgency in her voice, Severin frowned. “What about?”
“It is a…private matter. It shan’t take long.”
It wasn’t like Imogen to be desperate. Or indiscreet. The anxiety in her eyes was rare enough to elicit his concern.
He turned to Esther. “Aunt, will you excuse us?”
Aunt Esther closed her fan with a snap. “As you wish.”
As he escorted Imogen away, he heard his aunt say beneath her breath, “But it is not me you need to worry about.”
All of Fancy’s lessons, practice, and hard work had paid off. She was a success—a credit to the Knighton name, more than one of the lofty guests had commented. She had reached her goal and ought to be rejoicing.
She couldn’t wait for the nightmare to be over.
For the first time that eve, she found herself alone. It was a welcome break; she felt as if her face might crack from all the smiling. Resting on a bench in an alcove partially blocked by a silk screen, she sipped a cup of lukewarm punch and tried not to look for Knight.
After his callous treatment of her last night, her feelings had veered between anger and despair. She was losing hope that things between them would ever change. Fool that she was, she had thought their lovemaking meant something…that the physical pleasures they shared were an expression of emotional desire as well.
Clearly, that was true only for her.
Humiliation scorched her cheeks. His reaction to her declaration of love expressed louder than words how he felt about her. He had used her, and what was worse, she’d found pleasure in it anyway because she loved him. She was forced to confront the truth: his heart might forever be beyond her reach.
And yet…she touched her fingertips to the ruby necklace. Finding it on her dressing table, she had debated whether to wear it. It had rankled her that Knight might think a piece of jewelry could substitute for an apology or explanation of why he’d treated her the way he