Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(228)

Oh, please, no. “You did not speak to her.” Shame curled her toes.

Chloe paused, mouth open, thought unfinished, only confirming Imogen’s suspicions. “She was entirely gracious.” Imogen winced. “And understanding.” She flinched again. “And more than happy to gift you the heart pendant.” Chloe wrinkled her brow. “Or rather, give me the pendant to pass along to you.” An uncharacteristically somber light filled her dearest friend’s eyes. “I just want you to be happy once more.”

So much so that she’d unknowingly humiliate Imogen before a stranger. She sighed not knowing if she should laugh or cry.

Chloe claimed her hands and gave them a squeeze. “You will find the gentleman who is your true love. I promise.” Through the years Chloe had been the more practical, logical of them when it came to matters of the heart, swearing off that emotion for herself while allowing, even supporting Imogen in that dream.

She hardly recognized this young woman who spoke of magic and pendants and dreams of love. With a sound of impatience, she shoved to her feet, her fist tightened reflexively about the chain. “This is about more than love.” Imogen began to pace. Chloe had never been accused of being a hopeless romantic. Unlike Imogen—or rather, she had been until life happened and showed her the folly in giving her heart to another. She increased her frantic movements. “It was about being respected, inspiring devotion and dedication in another.” Feats she’d failed miserably with where Lord Montrose was concerned.

Her friend hopped up and placed herself in Imogen’s path. And then she said the only two words Imogen had longed to hear since the whole public shaming heaped on her by her disloyal sister and fickle betrothed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. That was it. She just wanted someone to not make excuses or worry after the scandal and how Society looked on it. She wanted someone to care about her and that she’d been hurt.

Imogen mustered a smile. “He did have fetid breath.”

A sharp bark of unexpected laughter bubbled past her friend’s lips. “And he was entirely too tall.” She shuddered. “We shan’t find you a tall gentleman like him.”

“And handsome,” Imogen supplied, feeling vastly better for her friend’s devoted teasing. “He was too handsome.” Which is why her grasping, self-centered sister had first noticed him. The familiar stirring of fury turned in her belly. And she embraced it, far preferring it to the kicked and wounded pup she’d been since the happy occasion last spring. Determined to set aside the still fresh betrayal. Imogen threw herself back into her friend’s game. “He drinks too much brandy.” His breath had stunk of it whenever he was near. “I shan’t ever wed a gentleman who touches even one glass of liquor.”

“Splendid.” Chloe gave a pleased nod. “You are quite grasping the spirit of this.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve heard from my brother that His Grace has a wicked penchant for the gaming tables.”

She’d little doubt just which brother Chloe spoke of. Not the respectable Marquess of Waverly but rather, Lord Alex Edgerton, known rogue, skirt-chaser, reprobate, brandy drinker. Another gentleman all ladies would be best served to avoid.

Chloe clapped her hands once, jerking Imogen’s attention back to her. “You’re woeful again.” A stern frown turned her lips down in the corners. “You must focus on how horrid and horrible and all things awful he is.”

“Er. Yes, right.” Except she’d run out of insulting charges to level on his miserable head. She stopped pacing so quickly her satin skirts fluttered about her ankles. Though in truth, as hurt and humiliated as she was by his betrayal, she truly was better knowing the man’s true character before she’d gone and wed him.

“I have an idea.” Her friend put in tentatively. Which was all show. There was nothing tentative about Lady Chloe Edgerton.

“Oh?” she asked dryly. Too many troublesome scrapes at Mrs. Belton’s Finishing School had begun with those four words.

Chloe beamed with Imogen’s interest. “Now that you have this necklace,” she gestured to the chain in Imogen’s hand. “You shall find a gentleman and make him fall hopelessly and helplessly in love with you and His Grace will be outrageously, wickedly jealous.”

“That is your plan?” She’d long adored her friend for her cleverness, however, this was an ill-thought out idea on the lady’s part. What was the use in making William jealous? “That will not change anything where Lord Montrose is concerned.”

Her friend plucked the necklace from her fingers. “Nor should you want to change anything, silly,” Chloe murmured. “Here, turn around.” Before Imogen could protest, Chloe spun her about. She settled the chain about her neck and fiddled with the clasp. A soft click filled the quiet. “There,” she said, turning Imogen around once more. “I’ll have you know,” she gave a toss of her blonde curls, “that was not my plan.” A slow, mischievous grin turned her lips. “You rejoining Society was…is,” she amended, “my plan.”

Imogen had retreated from ton events after the Scandal, as Society had taken to referring to it. Those drawn out syllables the ton used to set it apart from others scandals. Imogen sighed. “I’ve little interest in entering Society.” Alas, now that Rosalind had wed to her duke, Mother’s wedding plans were at an end, and she’d turned her sights once more upon Imogen. “I intend to wait until the scandal isn’t so—”