Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(67)

She jerked. Her ears burning with a string of vitriolic curses a young lady had no right hearing but wholly deserved. Hermione inched away from this man, now a stranger.

Sebastian scraped his gaze over her person. “You once spoke to me of love and passion.” His lip peeled back in a sneer. “You accused me of being cold and unfeeling. But tell me this, Hermione, where is the love in this.” He gestured angrily between them. “Where is there anything but calculated betrayal in what you’ve done?”

Do you imagine there is something wrong in reading about love and passion, Your Grace? Is your life so empty, so vastly cold that you should mock any and all who read a Gothic novel?

“Sebastian.” Oh, God. He was right. So very right. “You have brought me so much happiness and—”

His cynical laugh cut across her words. “Do you believe I care a jot about your happiness now, madam?” His words sucked the breath from her lungs. He may as well have slammed his fist into her midsection. A sound of disgust escaped him and he spun away from her. He took several steps toward the door.

Horror filled her as she considered the ugly possibility that he, too, would step outside Lord Brookfield’s office and gladly forget her and in his leaving steal the only real joy she’d ever known. Surely, he’d already determined that too-tall, conniving Hermione Rogers with her horribly titled Gothic novels possessed a reputation that was not worth saving. Why would he then go ahead and marry such a woman? Panic hammered at her chest. What would become of her sisters? Hugh? Elizabeth and her babe? “Sebastian!” her voice came out on a half-sob. She could not live her life without him. It was selfish and wrong, but she needed him, still.

He froze. Except, now that her exclamation had stayed his movements, she found there were no adequate words to ever pardon this shameful act.

His tired question cut into her slow-churning thoughts. “Was it solely for my title, Miss Rogers?”

“No.” The denial burst from her lips. However, no response, even the truthful one would ever be believed by him. And why should it? What had come before this, surely had mattered—in at least some, small way.

“Was it all a facade?” Pain roughened his voice and it ate away at her insides like an insidious poison.

There had been too many lies between them; all on her part. “Yes,” she said softly. He stiffened. “That is, not all of it, Sebastian. Only at first. But then everything changed.” She’d fallen in love. She dug her toes into the soles of her slipper, her contempt for herself threatened to consume.

Sebastian turned back. He ran a scorching gaze over her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She cringed at being so studied by this new man who knew no teasing or caring in the harsh, unfamiliar expression he wore. His eyebrows dipped menacingly. “Did you orchestrate our meetings, madam?” he asked, a steely edge to his words.

“Yes,” she whispered. “But not in the way you imagine.” Her gaze slid away from the burning intensity of his greenish-brown eyes and she fell silent. What was there to say? She had set out and waited for him at Hyde Park, in the name of his title, but for the purpose of her book. To issue protestations and insist otherwise would be a lie. For how could she now explain that she was the author, Mr. Michaelmas, and had sought him out initially for the benefit of a story? Just one more falsity between them he could never forgive.

“What a bloody fool I’ve been.” An ugly, bitter laugh spewed from his lips and she recoiled at the sound of it from this hardened man she didn’t recognize. “Of course, it all makes sense.” He slashed the air with a hand. “Your being out at Hyde Park, in a storm no lady would dare venture outside in.”

She winced at the likely deliberately thrown insult. Those carefully orchestrated meetings had not been about his title—not in the sense he believed. “That had nothing to do with me trying to…” But again, unless she shared that other great lie between them, there was no suitable response to explain away their meeting at Hyde Park.

He chuckled. “How very disappointed you must have been to have gone through the trouble of spooking my horse.” He made a tsking sound. “Throwing yourself to the ground and securing a match that very day.”

She tightened her mouth. “I didn’t intend to trap you.” Then.

Sebastian continued relentlessly. “Your lack of chaperone at each meeting.” A lack of funds and a remote father was really to account for the lack of chaperone. “It all explains the suspicions I had where you were concerned.” He spread his arms wide and sketched a deep, mocking bow. “Will you not congratulate me?”

She shook her head in abject confusion. “Congratulate—?”

“I’ve at last figured you out, Miss Rogers.” He scoffed. “And it only cost me my freedom and happiness.” Another laugh rumbled up from deep within his chest, but there was no mirth in the sound. “Oh, this is rich.”

She cocked her head. “It is?” It all seemed rather horrid to her.

Sebastian strode over with such swiftness that she staggered backward and placed the sofa between them. “You little schemer, I’d intended to offer for you.”

Her heart paused and involuntarily her hand fluttered about her breast. “You did?” she whispered. He cared about her, mayhap even loved her just a bit. Or rather, he had cared about her. Now, there was no longer a hint of love, warmth, or fondness.