Page 115 of Pride: The Rogue
Please go. Please.
The duchess must have remembered herself.
A rose-pink blush filled the woman’s strikingly high cheekbones. “Forgive me!” the glorious beauty made her apologies. “Though, I trust, given the reason for my house party, Miss Lovelace, you, yourself should have a greater understanding that not all unions are born of love.”
Livian’s mind went blank.
How quickly, how easily she’d forgotten her own motives for being here were no different than the duchess’ unidealistic ones.
Fortunately, her gracious hostess steered this excruciating conversation to an end.
“I trust you are tired, Miss Lovelace,” she said. “May I escort you to your rooms?”
Livian didn’t trust her legs to keep her upright for much longer, let alone, be forced to march beside Lachlan’s betrothed.
“Would you mind terribly if I remain a bit longer?” To keep the duchess from seeing the tears building in her eyes, Livian glanced down at the grand instrument. “It has been so long since I’ve played.”
“Anything I have, you are free to make your own, Miss Lovelace.”
A fresh slash of grief cut across Livian’s heart.
Keeping her head bowed, Livian sank into a deep curtsy.
When the duchess had gone, the delicate tread of her footfalls fading into nothing, Livian stayed frozen that way.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t so much as breathe. For if she did, she’d break and shatter like the immense, needle-like icicles hanging outside the window frames.
He is to be married…
It’d been one hell pining for Lachlan and the future that would never be with him while hating the eventual woman who’d bear his name and children.
It was an altogether unremitting, black, hopeless one coming face to face with the woman he would call Mrs. Lachlan Latimer.
Suddenly, the chore of keeping herself together proved too much.
With a convulsive gasp, Livian crumpled against the pianoforte. She clutched onto the side and hung on for all she was worth.
All the time he’d been with Livian, Lachlan had been intended for some other woman.
She sucked in deep, jerky, breaths.
She hated him for hurting her so.
On what grounds is there to hate him?
A tear slipped free. Livian brushed the drop away. Another was there to take its place.
If Livian were truly being honest with herself, however, she had no reason to resent Lachlan.
After all, he’d never promised her more—he’d never promised her anything, other than a night of passion—now, she just happened to know why.
She took in an uneven breath and fought to compose herself. The last thing she could handle was for someone to discover her this—
Livian felt him before she heard or saw him.
Elated and anguished all at the same time, she looked up and found him, all in black, framed in the doorway.
A palpable, sizzling energy stretched from across the space that divided them.
