The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(17)

Regret had him shifting in his seat. He should have done more to keep his old friend from going down that disastrous path, but he hadn’t. He’d let the friendship end instead, not wanting to watch his mistakes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t successful.”

She shrugged off his remark while he sat in stunned silence. Was that an apology? Had he just apologized? When was the last time he’d done that? He couldn’t even remember. It was possible the answer was never.

“You tried,” she said evenly, meeting his gaze. “That is more than I could say for the rest of his friends.”

Hell and damnation. He hated that look in her eyes. They shone with admiration and warmth and… oh hell, she was looking at him like he was some sort of hero. Didn’t she know that he was the Devil of Davenport? Didn’t she realize that she had tied her life to one who was cursed?

He looked out the window as the landscape rushed past. “You do realize that everything you’ve mentioned were actions of a boy who had something to prove.”

Back then he’d been hell-bent on proving he wasn’t evil, that he wasn’t wicked. Nearly everything she mentioned occurred before he’d realized that it was useless to try and fight it. It was easier to accept his fate.

She waved away his comment. “Nonsense. You’re not the devil people say you are.”

He raised one brow, defensive and oddly irritated by her assurance. Something about her words and her kind tone made him want to lash out, prove her wrong. He was that bad. In fact, he was worse. He was a curse to the people who loved him most. She needed to know the truth about him. Devil though he might be, he couldn’t marry this kind young woman while she looked at him like that. Like he was some sort of savior rather than the nefarious rake he was. “Why do you think I’m marrying you?”

She blinked at him then, some of her humor fading, the smile growing dim.

Blast. He had done that. His gut churned with something he couldn’t name but there was no turning back now. It was best that she realized who she was marrying and what she was getting herself into.

“You’re marrying me to save my family,” she said, though he heard the question in her words. “And to provide your tenants with a countess, and—”

“And you suppose I chose you for those reasons alone?” he asked, hating the mockery in his tone but making no effort to hold it back. It was for the best. She needed to know what she was getting herself into, even though he knew very well she had no other option.

That thought made him irrationally angry. The fact that she was with him out of desperation and nothing else. She hadn’t wanted to marry him; she was going along with this plan to be some sort of sacrificial lamb. And her family would allow it.

“Tell me,” he continued. “Why do you think I’m whisking you away? Don’t you think a nice young woman like yourself deserves to have a true wedding?”

He saw her swallow and the last of her smile was snuffed out.

When she didn’t respond, he let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Can’t you just see it now?” he asked. “The looks on the faces of the ton when they get wind of this.”

He watched as the color faded from her cheeks. A sick sense of satisfaction and shame warred in him as the hero worship faded from her eyes.

He forced a broad grin as he held his hands out as if reading the headlines in front of his face. “The Earl of Davenport takes a wife.” He paused to look her in the eye. “The devil and his bastard bride.”

He saw the blow hit its target. Anne flinched before turning her head quickly to face the window. Even with only her profile on view, he knew he’d caused her pain.

The truth hurt, he told himself. It was for the best that she knew what she was getting into. Much as he tried to remind himself that it was better this way, his heart twisted in his chest. His muscles ached at the restraint it took to keep from going to her, pulling her into his arms and telling her it was all a lie. He hadn’t given society a second thought when he’d proposed to her.

Oh, he’d used that logic to help convince himself that this marriage made sense. That it was in fitting with his image. But when all was said and done, he’d proposed to Anne because he wanted Anne as his wife.

He watched in misery as she feigned an interest in the passing landscape, but all joy and humor had faded from her demeanor.

He’d succeeded in making her see just how wicked he could be. But he felt no sense of triumph, no victory at having proved his point.

All he felt was shame. He’d done this to her—he’d repaid her kindness with cruelty. The one person he’d never intended to hurt and he’d done it. He’d lived up to the curse that haunted him and hurt Anne just because she’d had the audacity to see more in him than just the devil he’d embraced.

He had to make it right. She might be stuck with him, but she deserved better. He would be better for her. Somehow he would find a way to make this right.

He snuck a sidelong glance at her profile before turning to look out the opposite window.

He would make it right. He just had no idea how.





Chapter Five





Anne managed to hold back the tears until she was alone in her room at the inn.

The moment the maid shut the door shut behind her she let out the sob that had been choking her throat for the last several hours.