Page 46 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
“Her parents will be traveling to the Continent and she will most likely accompany them.”
“When does she depart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she’d accept an invitation to luncheon before she leaves?”
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps—”
“No more questions, Meg.” He winced at her shocked expression. He rarely snapped at her. “I promise your Season will be a success. We’ll find you some well-meaning lady who will shepherd you through the entire nonsensical round of balls and visits and parlor games.”
She tsked irritably. “Preferably one who doesn’t refer to it as nonsense.”
“Preferably.” He tried a grin and as always, she gave one in reply. Eventually. “Now go prepare for our visit to the vicarage and I’ll do the same.”
Rather than depart, she stared at him. “Are you certain?”
Rhys tipped his head. “Certain of?”
“Your refusal.” She stepped toward him, hands out as if beseeching him. “She was once your dearest friend and then you parted ways but now you seem to have made amends. Why fall out again?”
Rhys strode to the study door. “Questions are closed for today. Except for whatever the vicar plans to ask. And I’ll let you do the answering.” He opened the door and gestured into the hallway. “Shall we depart?”
“Couldn’t you help her? Whatever it is. She came to you, Rhys, rather than anyone else.”
Without realizing it, he’d gripped the door handle so hard his knuckles began to ache.
Meg was right. Bella had come to him. And he’d failed her. Again.
“When do we meet the vicar?”
Meg’s whole face brightened. “A little less than an hour.”
“I should be back in time.”
“You’re going to help her?”
He still had doubts. He still feared what trouble theirconnection might cause her. But the impulse to help her was too insistent for him to ignore. Bella needed him and despite all the reasons he should leave her to her own devices, he couldn’t.
“I’m going to do my best.”
Chapter Eleven
Bella stomped so hard through the field grass that her teeth rattled whenever her boot landed on a stony patch. She didn’t care. She was already clenching her teeth and clutching her hands into fists, and the stomping was doing wonders for working out her frustration.
Infuriating man. What had ever possessed her to believe Rhys would help?
She wasn’t asking for much. A few days of pretense. Perhaps a few weeks. Afterward, they could go back to being barely acquainted again. He could return to London and be a ne’er-do-well and she could focus on her book.
She understood his aversion to wedlock, but was he so terrified that he couldn’t even agree to pretense for a few weeks?
“Bella.”
She was so lost in her thoughts, the single shoutedword seemed unconnected to her. But then he shouted again, louder, more desperately. And that made her jerk to a stop. Rhys was far enough away that she could ignore him and it would be believable she hadn’t heard him at all.
She started off again, stomping less and picking up her pace. She’d gone to him and pleaded with him. That was enough of the Duke of Claremont for one day.
