Page 90 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“You must forgive me if I don’t exactly believe you. What you did is ... unforgivable.” Angling her head haughtily, she said, “Grace, can you please take me away from here?”
Then he watched as Lady Ophelia Lyttleton strode from his residence, from his life.
And it took everything within him not to drop back his head and howl. As a boy on the street he’d been beaten savagely, starved, come close to dying a time or two, but never in his life had he been in as much agony as he was now, because he’d hurt Phee—thoughtlessly and irrevocably. Revenge was a double-edged sword, and at that moment it was slicing his heart to ribbons and he regretted deeply that it was slicing hers as well.
Lady Ophelia Lyttleton did not look out the coach window, did not glance back to watch the residence disappear from sight. She simply stared straight ahead at the leather that lined the inside of Lovingdon’s coach, while everything inside her screamed at Drake’s betrayal. He had taken her to his bed, knowing who she was. He had touched her, kissed her, joined his body to hers ... made her cry out his name with pleasure. She had wanted what he offered, wanted him. She was as she’d once been told by another: wicked. She tempted men into wickedness. While Drake had not hurt her physically, she was still devastated emotionally because she would have never gone to his bed if she had remembered who she was. He had to have known that, and he kept the truth from her in order to seduce her. She had no doubt.
“Where would you like to go?” Grace asked gently, kindly.
She didn’t know, she couldn’t think. Her head was beginning to hurt. She desperately wanted a bath, needed to wash away his touch, scrub away his caresses. “Could I stay with you until tomorrow? I have to give some thought to what I’m going to tell Somerdale. I’ve been alone in a bachelor’s residence, a scoundrel’s residence, for days, nights. I won’t marry him, Grace.”
Leaning across the expanse separating them, Grace took Ophelia’s ungloved rough, scarred hands in her gloved ones. Ophelia felt soiled without the trappings of a lady. They had always provided her with a measure of protection. With them she could pretend that she wasn’t what she was.
“No one would expect you to,” Grace said. “I shall send word to Somerdale that I think I know where I can find you, and that I shall have you home tomorrow. To lessen his worry.”
Phee nodded. As much as she loved Somerdale, he was not one for taking charge. He would accept Grace’s letter with relief, leave the matter to her, and return to his club.
Grace continued, “I believe I’ve pieced together what might have happened between you and Drake, but I’m confused regarding how you came to be there.”
“I don’t wish to talk about it. Not yet.” Not ever.
She’d been happy, blast him. For a while she’d been truly happy. But it had all been only an illusion. None of it had been real, and now she would have to deal with it.
She’d welcomed his touch, encouraged it. She wanted to curl into a ball and weep for all that she’d allowed, for everything that he’d done. Instead she kept her spine straight and stiff. She fought not to reveal the depth of her hurt. She had become quite skilled at hiding pain. Her proficiency at it would come in handy now. It would protect her, ensure that no one knew what she’d suffered.
More importantly, it was imperative Drake Darling never realize how he affected her. She would not allow him to have power over her. She would not let him destroy her completely. She would find a way to piece herself back together, to carry on.
She’d done it before. She would do it again.
Chapter 22
“Where did you take her?” Drake stood in the Duke of Lovingdon’s front parlor. His best friend was nowhere to be seen, but his new wife was not at all happy. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t particularly happy with himself either. Phee’s face crumpling with the realization of what he’d done would haunt him for the remainder of his life. She believed him worthy. He’d proven her wrong.
“She’s here, at least for tonight. Sleeping. Dr. Graves came to examine her.”
“And she’s all right?”
“Depends on your definition of all right. I’ve a good mind to smack you. What were you thinking, what were you hoping to accomplish?”
Charging over to the fireplace, he pressed his forearm against the marble mantel and stared into the hearth, wishing for a fire so he could envision himself writhing within it. “You’d never understand.”
“Why don’t you try to explain it anyway? I know you, Drake. I love you as a brother. God help me, I love youmorethan I love the brothers who share my blood. I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here but it’s exceedingly difficult when my dearest friend in all the world cried herself to sleep.”
He grimaced, despising himself for being responsible for her tears. “It was childish.”
“I believe that goes without saying. The question is why did you do it?”
He sighed heavily, considered pounding his fist against the marble, but the rage he felt would be behind the blow and so it was likely he’d damage the mantel. “I know you’re not aware of it, but at every opportunity she slighted me.”
“Of course I’m aware of it.”
Dumbfounded, he stared at her. “And yet you remained friends with her, after just telling me how much you love me?”
Grace perched on the arm of a padded brocade chair. “Of course I did. Because I believed I understood what was behind her actions.”
“Insulting me?”
“Attraction to you.”
