Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(65)

“Wait,” she said in an entreating voice. She shoved herself up onto her elbows and looked at him through thick, smoky lashes. Then the haze of desire in her eyes lifted, replaced by something akin to horror. She gave her head a frantic shake. “I need you to know something.”

He lowered his head, seeking her lips once more, but she pulled away. She came up on her knees and took his face between her hands. Regret mingled with guilt in her expression. The first stirrings of unease tripped along his spine. He drew back. She reached a hand to him. “Whatever happens, I need you to know—”

The door opened. Their gazes swung as one to the entrance of the room. Lady Pemberly and their distinguished host and hostess, Lord and Lady Brookfield, released matching gasps of shock. He positioned himself between their prying eyes and Hermione.

“What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?” Lady Pemberly cried. The outraged words, however, were belied by the happy gleam in her eyes.

Was the woman mad? What cause would she have to smile when presented with her niece’s ruin? Sebastian lowered his voice, his words for Hermione alone. “I promise you, I’ll do right by you.” She deserved the offer of marriage like the ones in the books penned by Mr. Michaelmas, not this offer made of necessity. Not when it was based on so much more. She covered her face with her hands. “Hermione,” he said quietly ignoring the scandalized gasps at his use of her Christian name. He lowered her hands to her side. Guilt bled from her eyes. A faint humming filled his ears even as the pit in his belly grew. What did she have to be guilty for, unless…

She held up her palms. “I’m so sorry,” she said on an aching whisper.

Why was she apologizing? Why, when he’d shattered her reputation? His actions toward Hermione, outside the bonds of matrimony, had been nothing but dishonorable.

“Unhand my niece this instant.” Triumph glittered in the older woman’s hard eyes.

“This is not your fault, Hermione,” he said close to her ear, ignoring her rightfully outraged aunt. “The blame lies in no one but me for following you in here.”

A spasm racked her face. She touched trembling fingers to her lips and shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” Her throat, that same graceful skin he’d caressed with his lips a moment ago now worked with the force of her emotion. “This is my fault. Forgive me.”

“Not well done of you, Your Grace.” The older gentleman shook his head and made a tsking sound. “Not well done at all. Can’t simply go about ruining a young lady’s reputation.”

His slow-churning mind only dimly registered Lord Brookfield’s reproachful tone. He sought to rationally explain away the remorse in Hermione’s expressive blue eyes and the gleeful expression worn by her aunt and more importantly, the significance of that ‘forgive me.’ What reason would she have to ask forgiveness unless… A hiss slipped through his teeth. No. He’d not believe it. Not of forthright and bold Hermione Rogers.

“You’ve no choice but to wed her,” Lady Pemberly spat.

Ignoring everyone, he held Hermione’s gaze. “Why did you plead forgiveness?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Already knowing; no confirmation needed from her treacherous lips. Ah God. No. Not this. Not her.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

He took her by the shoulders and the trio of observers emitted another round of scandalized gasps. He gave Hermione a slight shake. “Why did you ask me to forgive you?’” Please let these vile unspoken charges be wrong and I’ll gladly spend the remainder of my days trying to earn your forgiveness.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. That full, beautiful mouth he’d worshiped moment ago trembled. “I-I…” Her voice broke. “I can explain,” she whispered. Sorrow, regret, guilt all seeped through and threatened to shred him with the dawning truth of her deception.

No explanation could or would ever justify this betrayal. I loved you. “By God,” he hissed. He yanked his hands away from her satiny, soft skin and let his arms fall uselessly to his side. His mind balked at the truth, yet even as he resisted finding her culpable of wrongdoing, he knew. A chill raced along his spine. It spiraled out and spread through his body. It stole away every last trace of warmth he’d known for her and the promise of a future with her and left his heart dead.

She’d betrayed him.

“I…” Her gaze slid off to the entrance of the room, to their audience. “I am sorry,” she said softly when she looked back to him. “I need you to understand…”

He leaned close and whispered harshly against her ear. “Answer me, Miss Rogers, did you orchestrate this?”

Her lack of response proved more damning than any words.

Sebastian reeled backward. He retreated a step. And another. Then stopped. No distance could lessen this knife like pain twisting away at his heart. Since Sebastian had left university his father had urged him to make a match that would strengthen the Mallen line. All the while Sebastian foolishly carried on with the secret wish for his own happiness. He’d wanted love. A harsh, empty laugh spilled past his lips.

So this was love.



Hermione knew the moment she breathed into existence the answer Sebastian demanded, every last glimmer of warmth he’d ever shown her, every smile, every teasing word, all of it, would be killed by a resentful man who’d been trapped—by a conniving schemer. What for a fleeting moment represented the only solution to salvage her brother and sisters’ future lifted, leaving in its place a horrifying truth of her treachery and beyond that, her own integrity.