Page 130 of Pride: The Rogue
As she slipped out from the aisle and made her way to the front of the festivities, more accolades and clapping met her every step.
With the grasping peeress thankfully gone, and the room conveniently preoccupied, Latimer stood and went in search of Livian.
Chapter 21
Livian hadn’t even attempted to muster the will to force herself to take part in the duchess’ evening parlor games.
How could she have?
How could she face Lachlan again?
No, not Lachlan. How could Livian bring herself to watch Lachlan and his future wife together?
Livian took in a shuddery, painful breath and hugged her arms about her middle.
The answer was—she couldn’t.
Standing in the same music room where she and Lachlan made love earlier that day, Livian stared out the floor-to-ceiling length crystal windows at the duchess’ exquisitely manicured gardens below.
Mother Nature, in another grand display of fury and displeasure, had ripped open the skies and let the rains fall violently from the heavens—this time, at the Duchess of Argyll’s country estate.
“You seem sad, Miss Lovelace,”
That quiet murmur startled Livian from her thoughts.
Gasping, she spun around. The evercharming, Viscount Forfar stood framed in the entryway.
Even as he kept his distance and stared patiently and kindly, his presence stirred the same unease that’d dogged her during and after every exchange she’d had the with the gentleman.
He expected a greeting.
And yet…
When Livian failed to respond, he quirked a golden eyebrow.
She found her voice. “My lord,” she said, dipping a curtsy.
“You were missed in the parlor.”
Her heart sped up. Lachlan—
The viscount quickly quashed any such delusion on her part. “Byme, my dear.”
Her heart promptly fell.
What did you expect?He’d come here and speak about Lachlan looking about for you?
From the start, Lachlan made it clear, there couldn’t be anything between them. He was on the cusp of a formal announcement being made to declare his and the Duchess of Argyll’s impending wedding. When faced with a choice between a commoner like Livian and a regal lady born to the peerage, a man always chose the latter.
Tears pricked her eyes.
As a bastard, that truth flowed as a reminder in Livian’s veins.
Click.
That slight snap of the door quietly closing, reached within Livian’s anguished musings.
Lord Forfar rested his back against the door panel. Flashing a teasing smile, he reached behind him, and locked the door.
