Page 92 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
She could forgive the chores. A very tiny part of her might even acknowledge that perhaps she deserved it, for an hour. But not for days. And no part of her could accept that she had deserved to be seduced by him. With her memories, she’d have never visited his bed. It didn’t matter that he had taken her on a glorious journey. There had been no honesty in it.
At the sound of the door opening, she turned as Grace walked in.
“He hasn’t left yet,” Phee announced as though Grace might not be aware that Drake still lingered in her residence.
“He wants to speak with you.”
“No, absolutely not. You were supposed to tell him I was sleeping.”
“I did, but I don’t think he believes me. Besides, I’m not convinced it would be such a bad thing for you to see him.”
“He’s a silver-tongued devil, that one. I want nothing more to do with him.” She turned back to watching the drive. If she stayed up here long enough, perhaps he would grow weary with waiting and leave. She needed him to leave. When he was here she couldn’t stop thinking about all that had transpired between them. She could find no peace.
The bed groaned as Grace sat on it. “What are you afraid of, Phee?”
Not being strong enough to resist tumbling back into his arms.“He took advantage, did things, unforgivable things, things I did not want ... ever. If I’d known who I was, if I’d possessed my memories, I’d have never allowed it to happen.”
“Are you saying he forced you?”
She shook her head. But he’d made her want him, damn him. She stared harder at the drive, willing him to appear, to walk out the door.
“He promises not to touch you, not to go near you. He wants only to speak with you. I think you owe it to him to at least hear what he has to say.”
“Owe him? I scrubbed his floors. I polished his boots. Iworked.” She could voice all of that, but not the worst of it. The humiliation, the shame, the mortification. The degradation of desiring him.
“I know he has regrets,” Grace said.
“As well he should.”
“I also think he cares about you.”
She scoffed. “If he did, he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
Grace got up off the bed and walked over to her. “Phee, I know we are taught that we are not to be intimate with a man before we marry, but if it makes you feel any better, I shared a very special night with Lovingdon before I even realized I would marry him. Desire is not a horrible thing.”
The weight of all that had happened was exhausting. It was taking all her strength not to crumble. Phee turned to her. “But you knew who you were. You knew who he was.”
“Yes, there is that, I suppose. Still, I love you both,” she said solemnly. “I think you’re both hurting. Perhaps a small chat will ease some of the pain.”
“It’ll only make it worse.”
“He’s stubborn and prideful, Phee. He’s not going to leave without seeing you. You know that as well as I do.”
“I can be equally stubborn and prideful.”
“But what is to be gained?”
As he stood by the fireplace, staring at the boots she’d recently polished, the minutes dragged by one after another. The only reason he didn’t give up hope was because Grace had yet to return to inform him that Phee would only consent to see him when he was rotting in hell. He doubted she would accept that he was there now.
Hearing the soft footfalls, he glanced up. Nearly doubled over with relief. She stood in the doorway in a light green satin dress with dark velvet striping. Velvet circled the collar, the cuffs, her waist, outlined the ruffles and bustles of the skirt. It had been made for her, he had no doubt of that. It didn’t matter how she’d come to have it here. Her hair was gathered up into a chignon. No loose wisps to be blown away with an enticing twist of her lips and a quick breath.
She was regal in bearing. Proud. But her stance was accented by an undercurrent of hurt, betrayal, and the definite mien that she wished to be anywhere other than where she was. Yet just like that night when she had expressed dread at walking in the park, she had shored up her courage to meet with him. He wondered how often she would humble him before his life was done. No doubt every time their paths crossed.
He straightened, moved away from the fireplace, and bowed slightly. “Lady Ophelia.”
“Grace said you wished to speak with me. Please be quick about it.”
He tipped his head toward the sofa. “Will you sit?”
