Page 45 of Ruthless with a Rogue
“My mother left when I was young too.”He released a sigh so heavy it pulled her down too, forced her to sink lower against the wall.“She ran away with one of her many lovers.And proceeded to die three days later with said lover in a carriage accident.I spent the next decade of my life watching my father drown himself in drink and vice.”
His voice turned hard.“I’m not sure what was more fun, the solitude that came from one’s existence being forgotten, or the beatings I suffered when it was finally remembered I did exist.And why I existed.Herson.A reminder of the whore who cuckolded him and then left him.Everyone had found out; the accident was plastered all over the papers.I think my father hated that.I was the scapegoat for that hate.”
A broken crooning noise fled her without thought, a mirror of the heartbreak happening inside her.Heartbreak for the boy he’d been, abused and abandoned, and for the man he was now.
“I washappywhen he died,” he spat.“He died at the hands of his creditors.Discovered floating in the Thames.I was shipped home from Harrow at fifteen and took over a floundering estate.And can you guess who myfatherassigned as trustee?A money-hungry drunkard, just like himself.The result of a wager lost.”
He turned toward her, his green irises nothing but a striation of grey.“I worked—I slaved—to revive the marquessate,” he whispered.“Every small success was followed by a failure.A youth with no experience, no tutelage, no bloody clue.No assistance.And a trustee who siphoned funds as soon as I was able to create them.Until I came of age at one-and-twenty and rid myself of the leech.Finally free from the last remnants of my father.”
She reached out and squeezed his forearm.She’d have hugged him if their positions had allowed it.She had a feeling the man next to her was in desperate need of a hug.“I’m so sorry, my lord.”
“Derek.”
Both their eyes flew wide at the same time.He shook it off, shrugged, as bored and droll as ever.And she almost laughed.Goodness, he was hilarious.Mr.Must always be a tough, unfeeling marquess.
“I’m so sorry, Derek.You didn’t deserve that.”
It was simple, matter-of-fact, and it wasn’t close to enough.But he seemed to appreciate it, if his sad smile was any indication.
“I must sincerely beg your pardon, Miss Forester.For—”
“Livy,” she said, her lips curling in amusement.“It’s only fair we both trade Christian names.And, Derek?”She waited until he nodded in acknowledgement.“All is forgiven.”
His lips pursed, and he frowned back at her.“Easy as that?”
“Yes,” she said simply.“Not everything requires a grand apology or penance.We’re human.I don’t plan on dwelling on it.Sometimes it’s as simple as moving forward.”
“You forgive too easily,” he murmured.“Like with this Mr.Thorton of yours.He sounds like a right prick, yetyou’rethe one trying to gain his attention.”
She rolled her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall, staring unseeing at the ceiling.“First off,allwomen try to gain men’s attention.It is how our world works.We parade out in front of you, and you point and say, ‘I’d like that one.’”
She glanced at him to see his face twisted in a grimace.
Exactly her thoughts.
“If I walked into ballrooms and failed to temper my intelligence, to soften my laughter, to rein in my rather…exuberant awkwardness, we both know how well that would go.I started out as no one of consequence, and I’d quickly find myself something worse than that if I were to be myself.I have nothing to commend me in our world.”
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Her heart stuttered to a stop.Usually, that fact frustrated her.That all she had was the way she looked now.That if she hadn’t somehow gotten lucky and grown out of her gangliness, she’d truly have amounted tonothing.And it still wasn’t enough.But the way he said it, with such soft reverence…it felt more than surface-level.Especially with the way his eyes were boring into her, like he saw the essence of who she was hidden underneath.Like he was the first person to ever see her.Her chest swelled, whirling with a foreign, fizzing feeling.Like she finally wasn’t invisible.
He cleared his throat and glanced away, breaking the charged moment.“You stole my clothes, and that went really well for you,” he pointed out.“Perhaps you should be stealing people’s garments more often.”
She bit her lip against a smile.“You’re such a noodle.”
He coughed over a laugh, staring at her with eyebrows aloft.“Did you just call me a noodle?Christ, I don’t think anyone has called me that since my early days back at Harrow.”A soft smile ghosted his lips.“Even then, we’d all been raucous boys trying to be tougher, older than we were.Curses were thrown, not things likenoodle.”
“Perhaps not in your presence.”She winked, and he shook his head at her.“In any case, I will be the epitome of the modest, demure young lady society demands.”
“How incredibly revolting that sounds.”
Her jaw tensed, and she drew in a slow, steadying breath.“It is.And I don’t like it.But the way I feel about it doesn’t change anything.There are expectations I must conform to.I’d be naïve to believe otherwise.”
They stared at each other.It was clear he wanted to say something, argue.But there wasn’t anything to argue over.
“What is my alternative?”she asked softly.She truly wanted to know.Because there wasn’t one in her eyes.Whatever argument was brewing in the tension of his frame faded away.As she’d thought.
“If I don’t conform, I simply do not marry.Does it hurt that the man I’ve spent five years dreaming of a future with can’t be with me because I’m not someone his family approves of?Yes, it really does.”She swallowed down the strain tightening her words.“He’s not the only one, either.I have fallen short before.”She interlaced her fingers, rolling them together.She wasn’t even good enough for her own mother.“I refuse to fall short again.”
