Page 112 of Pride: The Rogue
That description of Livian seemed to further mollify the jaded widow.
And yet, as the duchess resumed conversing with Dynevor, Latimer allowed himself to look freely upon the charismaticyoung lady across the room and the earnest gentlemen vying to speak with her.
He hooded his lashes.
What the jaded Duchess of Argyll didn’t—and couldn’t—realize, Livian’s innocence was the drug that drove Latimer mad.
Chapter 18
With all the guests having sought their rooms to rest before the formal dinner later that night, Livian stayed hidden in the Duchess of Argyll’s elegant music room.
Curled up on the Broadwood grand piano bench, Livian stared sightlessly at the gleaming keyboard.
She had never taken herself as a shining example of good or held delusions she’d lived a life without sin.
Neither, however, had Livian believed herself so bad as to be deserving of God’s wrath and ire.
Alas, along the way, she must have done something to earn her Maker’s enmity, for nothing, absolutely nothing, else could explain the everlasting hell he’d thrust her into at the Duchess of Argyll’s house party.
It’d been one thing when she’d planned to come find a gentleman to marry. But that’d been before she’d met Lachlan. For a fleeting time, she’d had a taste of what life could be like if she had a husband such as he in it.
God had put Latimer in Livian’s life and then took him away in the cruelest, most vicious, unendurable way imaginable—in a way where Livian would MISSING WORDS
For there could be no doubt, Latimer had an intimate relationship with the Duchess of Argyll.
A fresh wave of misery cut all the way through Livian.
Tears threatening, she touched the edge of her finger so gently to a cream-white ivory; barely any sound emanated from an instrument grander than anything Livian herself had personally owned.
“Ah, Miss Lovelace.” A soft, singsong voice swelled around the majestic room. “I’d hoped to have a moment alone with you.”
With a gasp, Livian came to her feet so quickly, she stumbled. Her hip collided with the keyboard, and she accidentally set a discordant symphony into motion.
Livian rushed to collect herself and sank into the requisite deep, deferential curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
The duchess offered a radiant smile that did not match the edge in her shrewd eyes. “This is where you’ve been hiding, my dear.”
Livian heart and stomach went pitching dangerously, at the same time.
“I stumbled upon your music room,” Livian said evenly. She carefully watched the other woman’s approach. “I hope you do not mind I took the liberty of availing myself of your pianoforte.”
In fact, that’s precisely what she’d done. In her earlier misery, she’d run and only raced into the room in question to avoid discovery by approaching guests.
“Not at all, my dear,” the Duchess of Argyll exclaimed.
The woman didn’t walk, but rather floated and glided over the parquet floor, with each graceful step that brought them closer reminding Livian of her inferiority.
At last, the duchess reached Livian, stopping just to the side of the gilded instrument.
Both women assessed one another: one noble born who’d enjoyed every luxury. The other, Livian.
“I must make my apologies to you, Miss Lovelace,” the duchess said graciously. “I regret you were caught unawares at breakfast earlier this morning.”
Guardedly, Livian considered the generous benefactress whom she’d met through her half-brother. They’d met any number of times before. The duchess had only ever been gentle, warm, and welcoming. Something about the woman, however, rang untrue.
“There is no need to apologize, Your Grace,” Livian murmured.
The beautiful widow inclined her head. “That is gracious of you. You see, Miss Lovelace, I was so eager for you to join the festivities I’d assembled, I fear I failed to think about how you’d respond toallmy guests.”
