Page 85 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
At the time, it had seemed the best thing to do. The only way to prevent his anger getting the best of him.
He had decided to say sorry before he even reached his club. But that had not turned him back because he needed normality, the sanity of his friends, to get over a day of Pembroke’s and Marlow’s ill-judgement.
While his friends talked, he had planned his apology.
But cowardice had still haunted him. He should have come home then. Instead, he had procrastinated, eaten at the club and played a hand of cards. Then, when he finally plucked up the courage to return, when his friends had proposed returning with him, he agreed when he should not have done, solely to have the shelter of their friendship when he faced her. His newfound cowardice running deeper.
He had left her alone, in an unfamiliar place, on the back of an argument. She would not welcome him bringing back his friends. He’d brought them as a shield for the wrath he expected to face.
Yet this was good, kind Mary. There was no wrath in her, only hurt, which he bore the guilt for.
Devil take it!The newly discovered voice of conscience no longer whispered; it yelled as guilt smote him with a double-edged sword. A coward with a conscience – that would be his lot as a married man.
‘My, my,’ Peter said, looking over Drew’s shoulder.
Drew shut the door. He did not want his friends ogling her.
Turning to Peter, Drew set a devil-may-care grin on his face; nor did he not want them knowing how vulnerable she made him. He would keep his love affliction to himself.
‘She is a prize.’ Peter smiled. ‘I like to think it was my prose that won her for you.’
‘You are not the only one who contributed to those words!’ Harry called from across the room, helping himself to a glass of the brandy Peter brought with them. ‘You cannot claim all of Drew’s success for yourself.’
‘Ah, but it is the prose that women love, and the prose was all mine.’
Drew said nothing, crossing the room to pour himself a drink too. The conversation carried on, as they all fought over whose words were the best, quoting their various contributions.
‘Well, if you think you helped Drew win Miss Marlow,’ Peter said eventually, ‘you can help me with Miss Smithfield. I am not getting very far, since Drew stole her pretty friend away, her parents will not consent to her driving with me.’
The others laughed.
Drew watched them in silence, as they developed a plan of attack. He sipped his brandy, wishing to be drunk, but for some reason the alcohol failed him tonight. He could not reach uncaring oblivion.
It was about two after midnight when his friends took their leave. He bid them goodnight, extinguished the candles and slipped into the bedchamber as quietly as he could, his heart thumping.
He stripped off in the darkness, leaving only his shirt on, before climbing into the bed beside her.
She did not move or make any sound beyond that of her slow, shallow breathing.
Sighing, he rolled to his uninjured side and let sleep claim him too.
30
Mary woke to find Andrew looking at her, his light brown gaze soft and intense; his eyes were honey in the light room. It was morning. She had not fallen asleep until after he had cautiously lain down next to her. She must have overslept this morning.
He was lying on one side, his head cradled on his palm, supported by his bent arm, and the fingers of his free hand played with a lock of her hair on the pillow.
He wore a shirt that hung open at the neck, showing a little of his chest hair.
‘I am sorry.’ He said the words as though they could stitch her heart back together.
She’d heard his friends speaking about the letters they sent her and plotting to seduce Emily. John was right. Drew had not been truthful.
‘I should not have left you alone last night,’ he continued. ‘It was wrong of me. I was angry at your brother and your father and I took it out on you. I am sorry. Do you forgive me?’
She said nothing.
He smiled, it looked genuinely apologetic. Yet she’d thought him genuine that day in the summerhouse, when she’d read the heartfelt words in the letter his friends had written.
