Page 141 of Pride: The Rogue
Her Grace stared a moment and then tossed her head back and howled with laughter. “Goodness, my dear, you are far more skilled with prevaricating then I’d given you credit for,” she declared, wiping the amusement from the corners of her eyes.
It appeared, with the duchess’ clear desire and appreciation for directness, she and Livian shared some common ground after all.
“I’m aware of your father’s history, Your Grace,” Livian said with a gentleness the bitter widow clearly both needed and deserved. “And in that, I stand corrected and ask your apologies because we both, regardless of our stations and birthright, know what it is to be daughters to dishonorable fathers.”
The duchess’ throat worked several times; the proud, formidable, seemingly unflappable hostess displayed her first sign of vulnerability.
Graciously, to allow the proud woman to compose herself, Livian averted her gaze.
Only after the duchess cleared her throat several times, did Livian allow herself to look up.
“I’m not speaking about my father, the earl,” Her Grace said flatly, her tones as chilled as her gaze. “I’m referring to my marriage to the Duke of Argyll.”
Livian started.
“As the daughter of a nobleman, or I’ll allow the legitimate daughter of a nobleman,” the duchess clarified with a matter-of-factness that erased any hint of meanness, “certain responsibilities were placed upon me. My heart belonged to one man, and yet, he was an orphan who’d been raised on the streets.” A bitter, anguish-laden laugh exploded from the older woman’s lips. “And I, of course, the daughter of that immoral earl, had no choice but to marry another.”
Grief so strong contorted the dowager’s features, and in a remarkable, uncharacteristic crack in her composure, the duchess whipped her face away.
Livian felt the woman’s sorrow as if it were her own. She needn’t point out there’d actually been a choice. If she’d loved that man enough, the duchess would not be suffering still all these years later.
When the duchess again spoke, she did so with her usual aplomb.
“The Duke of Argyll was averyhandsome man, charming. Young and old ladies alike lusted after him. As for me?” The duchess’ expression darkened. “With every fiber of my being, I despised him. He was a debauched, vile reprobate still in love with his dead wife.”
Livian felt another stirring of pity, and she understood what accounted for the beautiful woman’s icy veneer.
The duchess’ crimson painted lips twisted into a grimace. “Whenever His Grace visited my rooms, which he did nightly, he’d make me pretend to be his late wife.”
Horror filled Livian.
“It mattered not that I came to him a virgin.” Her words came faster and faster. “He introduced me to a lifestyle heclaimedthe previous duchess loved. He vowed I would come to crave such an existence.”
The duchess caught herself. She drew in another deep breath and passed her palms over her cheeks.
A sick, cancer-like poison infiltrated Livian’s veins and spread like fire throughout. Lachlan had spoken of a business partnership. But what the duchess’ confession revealed was this match meant something more to her…
“You love Mr. Latimer,” Livian said, her tones flat to her own ears, her body hurting inside.
“That is what you heard, my dear?” Latimer’s wife-to-be laughed. “We’ve only just met. I’m not some starry-eyed ninny who believes herself in love with some man I just met.”
The look she slanted Livian’s way couldn’t have been clearer.
Livian’s heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest.
“That is, unless, one believes in love at first sight.” A sudden, and patently overdramatic, understanding dawned in the duchess’ eyes. “Never tell me,you do, Miss Lovelace?”
“Where love is concerned, there is no set time frame that makes sense, Your Grace,” she said softly. “For there is nothing at all rationalaboutthe emotion. In a single moment, one can find oneself going about their everyday life, only to next find oneself face to face with a stranger whom their soul binds to.”
How strange to think how terrified of Lachlan Latimer she’d been, only to have lost herself so completely to him.
Livian’s eyes slid shut. “And you’re almost instantly filled with the most profound, unimaginable, all-powering emotion that is love; it defies all logic and reason, and leaves you twisted so you don’t know which way is up or down.”
“That’s notlove, Miss Lovelace.” The duchess’ bluntly-cold avowal snapped Livian from her warm haze. “What you described islust.”
Livian stayed quiet. Be it the years Her Grace had on Livian, or the lady’s elevated station, the other woman had convinced herself she was the wisest and only true knower of all matters related to the heart.
The duchess bowed her head. “My apologies, Miss Lovelace,” she murmured. “Given your earlier life until your sister’s marriage to the earl, and the nature of your father, I’d not taken you for naïve.”
