Page 143 of Pride: The Rogue
In a display of power and control, the sophisticated widow drew Livian’s leather journal against her chest and wandered with deliberate, slow steps back Livian’s way.
All the while Livian’s head, heart, and stomach revolted.
Oh, God. She already knows. She knows I am madly, deeply, in love and will forever belong to Lachlan.
At least, Livian’s heart and soul would.
The exquisite beauty before her would belong to him in all the ways Livian never would: in name, in the eyes of God, with the world as witness to their blessed union, sanctioned by the church. The duchess would soon be Mrs. Lachlan Latimer. She would share Lachlan’s bed and know the heady power of his touch.
Livian’s stomach muscles seized. She fought to keep from doubling over, pounding the floor, and howling like one of the Wailing Women of old.
Wordlessly, the Duchess of Argyll held Livian’s book out.
This belongs to me.While Lachlan wouldn’t, his future wife couldn’t take this from her, too.
With greedy fingers, Livian snatched it back. Now, safely returned, and in her possession, how strange to note the emptiness of this triumph.
“I’m not a fool, Miss Lovelace,” the duchess said frostily. “I’m aware you’ve been fucking Mr. Latimer.”
Mortification sent Livian’s entire body ablaze with heat. “I…You…We…”
“What is that, Miss Lovelace, hmm? I’m wrong?Ishouldn’t speak so crudely?Youcan’t believe such profanity?” Unlike Livian, the refined and worldly duchess managed an equanimous composure as she spoke. “And thewe, I take to mean? You and Mr. Latimer?”
Livian flinched.
The duchess snorted. “What I do, however, happened to notice missing from your stuttering is a denial, which is fine,” she said over Livian’s attempt to choke out a denial. “He is a handsome man. One might even say savage.”
In hearing the duchess speak of him so, Livian’s rage knew no bounds.
“He is none of those things!” Livian seethed.
“Come now, I saw him, covered in blood, standing over his battered prey, and rage bulging from all those magnificent, strapping muscles.”
“He is a good man, and you’d make him out to be a beast when it is the viscount deserving of your ill opinion,” Livian spat.
“Ill opinion?” The Duchess of Argyll’s lips formed a little moue. “Once again, you mistake me. You, dear child,” she said gently, in such superior tones, they set Livian’s teeth on edge. “You may have shared Mr. Latimer’s bed, but you are as innocent as the day you were born. I’m not disgusted by Mr. Latimer. I find myselflustingfor him.”
Livian wanted to claw the duchess’ heavy, desire-filled eyes from her head.
“That is all it is, Miss Lovelace,” she said, still as infuriatingly patronizing. “You had him between your legs, and you have taken that to mean you are in love with him. Women of my ageand experience know the difference. As do men of Mr.Latimer’sage and experience.”
In other words, Livian was a mere child, while Lachlan and the Duchess of Argyll, shared a like sophistication. Livian’s gut seized at the other woman’s accurate reminder.
“I trust if you consider all your exchanges with Mr. Latimer,” the duchess remarked, this time, more matter-of-fact than cruel, “you will see he is a man of the world. He loves the work he does. He loves sex just as much. And he can, just like me, separate emotion from lovemaking.”
Unlike Livian, who couldn’t. The older woman didn’t even bother pointing out that unkind detail. Livian, already knew it, anyway.
Lost in misery, Livian hugged her arms around her middle.
The duchess—no, the soon-to-be Mrs. Latimer—rested a graceful hand upon Livian’s shoulder.
Somehow, even while aching inside, Livian managed to look at the duchess.
“I’ve been passed over before,” the young duchess quietly continued. “That defection saw me marked as an object of society’s pity and scorn, Miss Lovelace.”
“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” Livian murmured, as the emotion that thickened the other woman’s mouth indicated just how much she’d been hurt by that shame.
As for Livian, she didn’t give two jots what society had to say about her.
