Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(90)

“They say you trapped him.” His frown deepened. “I didn’t believe you really did. I…” His words trailed off and he glanced at a point beyond her shoulder. His stark shock conveyed his disillusionment, far more painful than any words of disappointment he might have hurled at her. It occurred to Hermione, that for all his outbursts toward her and about her, a sliver of him had still believed her a worthy, honorable person.

Her heart flipped unto itself with shame at the realization she’d shattered perhaps that last bit of faith he had in an adult presence in his life. She touched his shoulder. He jerked his arm back as though repelled by her. “I did it for you,” she said, knowing even as the words left her mouth how empty they were.

Addie had been correct. Hugh still did not attend school, Hermione still couldn’t rely that Elizabeth’s care would be seen to. What had she done for anyone, other than shatter Sebastian’s trust and steal an empty title?

“I wished you hadn’t,” Hugh said at last. “Now you are sad and lonely and you’ll be sad and lonely forever because a duke could never forgive what you’ve done.” With that, he spun on his heel, yanked the door open then rushed out, slamming it behind him. It shook hard on its foundations.

Hermione remained rooted to her spot, kneeling upon the floor for a long while, her brother’s words swirling through her mind. It was a sad day indeed, when one’s eleven-year-old brother, in all his infinite child’s wisdom, had the sense to realize that which she herself had failed to note—no one could ever love, respect or care for a woman who’d trapped a gentleman into marriage. Whether she’d sacrificed her reputation, her own self-worth, her honor, all for Addie, Hugh, and Elizabeth—in the end, her actions could never be redeemed. Most certainly not in the eyes of her absent husband.

She awkwardly shoved herself to her feet and wandered over to his desk. A desk she’d, since his hasty flight, claimed as her own and climbed into his enormous leather chair. She drew her legs up then looped her arms about her knees, rubbing her chin back and forth over the fabric of her skirts. She looked at the pages scattered about his desk to the familiar loathsome scandal sheet. The Times stared mockingly back at her.

She shifted her attention to the opposite end of the room and then with a soft curse leaned over and dragged the paper close. Hermione skimmed the well-read page, all the while knowing what it mentioned. Knew because she’d committed it to memory earlier that morning. Just as she’d committed each day’s reports about the dashing Duke of Mallen’s actions from the previous evening.

A certain Duke of M continues to keep residence at his clubs. The estrangement to the Duchess of M, seems certain to continue…etc., etc., etc.…

Hermione threw the paper onto the floor, finding some small measure of satisfaction in the solid thump as it hit the hard wood. But beyond that slight sound, finding no real solace in…much of anything, anymore. She missed him. She missed the Sebastian she’d once known; the slightly indignant duke who didn’t seem to know what to make of a young lady who challenged him, yet who’d never once been haughty or condescending.

A smile played about her lips as she grabbed the nearest page of The Nefarious Duke. Nor would most gentlemen ever dare pick up a scandalous Gothic novel per that same young lady’s request and certainly wouldn’t dare admit something as outrageous as having enjoyed said novel.

Her smile withered. He’d intended to offer for her. She crumpled the page in her hands and then forced herself to lighten her grip. Oh, that great irony of her life. If she’d been but patient, he would have offered for her and even now would be in this house, in her bed… Her body warmed at the memory of his touch, the passion they’d shared that one, now distant night, so fleeting that oftentimes, as she lay abed, she wondered if she’d merely imagined the feel of him in her arms.

A knock sounded at the door. She swiped a hand over her eyes. “Addie, I told you I needed to…” Her words trailed off as the door opened.

The butler, Carmichael, stood in the entrance beside an unfamiliar gentleman. Handsome with chestnut hair and serious hazel eyes, he studied her a moment in silence. “Your Grace, the Earl of Waxham,” the butler announced.

She furrowed her brow at the somehow familiar name. The Earl of Waxham. Waxham…Waxham… Then she remembered her aunt’s throwaway words inside a carriage on the way to Lady Smith’s ball about a Sophie Winters who’d captured Sebastian’s heart.

Now, the Countess of Waxham, though why any fool girl would choose a mere earl over a duke, I’ll never understand.

The gentleman arched a single brown, eyebrow and her cheeks warmed. She surged to her feet, hovering behind her husband’s desk. Carmichael backed out of the room, leaving her alone with the earl. He bowed low at the waist. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure.” And by the gentle warmth in his eyes, he was the first person in polite Society who seemed to actually mean those words.

Hermione smoothed her palms over the front of her skirts. “Er…likewise.” After all, she’d long tired of the angry, disappointed, judgmental company she’d kept of late. She motioned him forward. “Would you care for tea? Refreshments?” An explanation as to why you’re here?

He waved a hand. “No, no refreshments, necessary.” Curiosity teemed in his gaze as he took in the papers scattered about. She hurried out from behind Sebastian’s desk and placed herself between the earl’s line of vision and her work.