He climbed into his coach, yanked the curtains closed, plunging the cabin into darkness, and sunk down on the bench.
Why hadn’t Miss Braddock claimed they’d been intimate?
The question swirled around in his head, echoing until it drowned out every other thought. She ruined her chances of finding a match in Wiltshire—well, truthfully, he had by appearing at her house every day for the past four weeks.
The coach stopped, but Levi didn’t move. He stared, unseeing, at the bench opposite him, enveloped by the ghostly scent of lily of the valley. His eyes closed, and he inhaled.
The door creaked open, and Mr. Spencer peered into the coach. “Are you ill, Your Grace?”
Eyes popping open, Levi shook his head, then climbed from the carriage. He trudged through the snow into his house, leaving a trail of melting footprints through the foyer as he headed toward his study. Opening the door, he expelled a shout of fright upon discovering Warwick seated behind the desk.
“You look as though someone died.” Warwick’s smile faltered when Levi plodded into the room and flopped onto the sofa. “Lord, who’s deceased?”
“Miss Rowe.” Levi stretched to his left and grabbed a decanter of whiskey and two glasses from a side table.
“When? How?” Warwick rose and hobbled around the desk, groaning as he leaned on his cane.
Levi filled both glasses. “This morning, when her brother arrived at her house and announced her true name was Eveline Braddock.”
Warwick’s jaw dropped. “Why would she lie?”
“Her brother claimed the deceit was due to her hiding from a violent, rejected fiancé.”
“A plausible excuse.” Shoving Levi’s legs out of the way, Warwick sat on the end of the sofa. “However, if you’re uncertain, seek out the jilted man and determine his character for yourself.”
“I don’t know his name.” Bitterness spread across Levi’s tongue.
Warwick’s mouth stretched into a slow smile. “You’re in love.”
“Was.” Levi held out a mostly filled glass of whiskey. “I was in love with someone who doesn’t exist.”
“She lied about her name, not her nature,” Warwick said, accepting the snifter.
“Why didn’t she trust me enough to share the truth?” Levi slammed the decanter back on the table. “I proposed.”
“You proposed?” Glee exploded on Warwick’s face.
“The moment I learned of her deception, I retracted my intentions,” Levi snapped, causing Warwick’s amused expression to transform into horror.
“Did you… were you intimate with her?”
“You sound like Roxburghe.”
Sighing, Warwick placed his hand on Levi’s shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. “Ten thousand pounds won’t be of great comfort when you’re alone in this house with not even Mr. Philbert’s ghost to keep you company.”
“You don’t intend to marry.” Levi jerked his arm from Warwick’s grasp. “Are you attempting to convince me of its merits to win our wager?”
“I’d trade twenty thousand pounds for a chance at what Roxburghe and Grisham have… for what you had.” Warwick kicked his cane, sending it skittering across the floor.
“Unless you crawl across the floor to retrieve that, I’m leaving you on this sofa.” Levi tapped the rim of his glass against Warwick’s.
“Mrs. Grove will assist me when she returns from the market.” Grinning, Warwick sipped his drink.
A door slammed in the room above them, followed by the soft scrape of chair legs moving across the floor. Both Levi and Warwick tilted their heads back and stared at the ceiling.
“Did Mr. Northcutt escort Mrs. Grove to the market?” Levi asked, his voice quiet.
“He did,” Warwick replied, his tone equally soft.
