Page 63 of Bad Luck Bride

And Magdelene was no more capable of finding a way out of the mess now than she’d been a year ago, which put Kay right back in the same predicament she’d been in last summer: she had a mother and sister to provide for and very few options for how to do it.

Still, all was not lost, not yet anyway. First, she had to see Wilson, talk with him, try to explain what had happened.

But on the heels of that thought came the inevitable question, the one that made going to Wilson not only exceedingly difficult but probably futile as well. Yes, Devlin had behaved abominably. Yes, he had defied all rules of decorum and kissed her. But what had she done?

Had she wrenched free? Had she shouted for help? Had she even expressed the proper maidenly outrage and given him the resounding slap across the face he’d deserved?

No. Sadly, she’d done none of those things. She hadn’t done a thing to ward off his advances, nor had she expressed a shred of outrage about them. She had, in point of fact, done the exact opposite. She’d kissed him back.

Suddenly, memories of that kiss overwhelmed her—the feel of his arms around her, of his hard, strong body pressed so intimately against hers, the taste of his mouth, the hunger of wanting him, and the heady delight of knowing he wanted her.

She’d forgotten, she realized. She’d forgotten all that. In the wake of his departure, in the certainty of his betrayal, she’d forgotten how his kiss had always made her feel. Her breath quickened, and she closed her eyes, her muscles tightening, her blood heating, her body aching with need she only vaguely understood. All of that had been pushed away, stored so deeply in her memory that she’d forgotten it was there at all. Until that kiss on the terrace had reawakened it.

Kay jerked her eyes open and rolled over with a groan, pressing her flushed face into the pillow and covering her head with the counterpane as she recalled in hot chagrin the entire humiliatingepisode. How she had slid her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with all the same heedless, willing passion she’d felt for him as a girl. How she’d raked her hands through his hair, glorying in the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hard body pressed against hers. Hell, she thought, grimacing as she touched her fingertips to her still-burning lips. Even now, she felt the imprint of his kiss like a searing brand.

No, she thought, anguished, there was no denying her own culpability. She’d returned Devlin’s kiss with willing and wanton abandon, and she had relished every second of it.

Wilson, no doubt, had seen that for himself, so there was nothing to explain and no excuses to offer.

Still, despite that awful, nauseating fact, Kay knew one thing.

She flung back the counterpane, took a deep breath, and turned onto her back. She had to face her fiancé, apologize, and take her lumps. It might not work, he might not take her back, but she had to try.

After all, what other choice did she have?

For the second night in a row, Kay got almost no sleep, but upon rising the following morning, she at least felt better able to face Wilson than she had the night before. As she dressed, she went over all the things he might say and all the responses she might offer to any questions he might ask or demands he might make, but she invented no excuses, for there were none. She rehearsed no explanations, other than a sincere and heartfelt apology. What would happen after that, she could not begin to fathom.

But Kay had barely journeyed downstairs before Josephine waylaid her at the door to the breakfast room and put paid to any chance Kay had of offering Wilson an apology.

“Psst, Kay,” Josephine hissed in a desperate whisper, causing Kay to stop by the door and glance around. “Over here.”

Kay turned to find her sister skulking by a pair of enormous potted ferns, clearly waiting for her. When she stepped closer, Jo immediately did the same, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her without any explanations down a corridor, out a side door, and into the kitchen garden.

“What in heaven’s name happened last night?” the girl demanded the moment the door had swung shut behind them.

Kay’s stomach lurched at the question, but with an effort, she kept her expression neutral. “What do you mean?” she asked, absurdly proud of the nonchalant tone of her voice. “Has something happened?”

“Haven’t you heard? Wilson’s gone. Calderon’s carriage took him to the train station first thing this morning.”

So much for allowing her the chance to offer an apology, Kay thought ruefully.

“Cassandra told me,” Jo went on when she didn’t reply, “that Wilson told Simon a sudden, important business matter had come up, and he had to go back to London at once.”

Kay sank down on the top of a low stone wall. “I see.”

“There’s more,” Jo went on, moving to sit beside her. “One of the housemaids told Cassandra’s maid that she saw Devlin Sharpe and Lady Pamela out in the garden earlier, and though the girl couldn’t hear what was being said, she told Cassandra’s maid that Lady Pamela was making an awful fuss—crying and carrying onand clearly very upset. And Sharpe wasn’t even comforting her. He didn’t embrace her or take her hand or anything. He just looked grim as death, the maid said.”

“I’ll bet he did,” Kay murmured. “So he should.”

“Why, what do you mean?” Jo asked. “So youdoknow what happened?”

“I only meant,” Kay improvised quickly, “that if his fiancée was crying, of course he’d look grim. Any man would, I daresay.”

Jo’s face took on a hint of disappointment. “So you don’t know anything about it? Could Pamela being upset have something to do with Wilson leaving, I wonder?”

“I don’t see how,” Kay said, wriggling as she spoke, her conscience smiting her, but thankfully, her sister didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” she added firmly. “If Wilson got word of an important business matter and had to attend to it, then—”

“But that’s just it,” Josephine cut in. “Cassie and I don’t see how that’s even possible. The butler told her that no telegrams or letters had come for Wilson, and they’re not on the telephone here, so how could any business matter have come up? What did his secretary do, sent him a note by carrier pigeon?”

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