“Lady Wilde,” he said sternly, “you flatter me with your attentions.” She opened her mouth as though to speak, and he continued more forcefully. “But you are mistaken, my Lady. I am not, nor have I ever been playing any games with you. I would abhor the very thought of leading any woman on. If you, by some quirk of chance, have believed me to be interested in you and shown you affection, I am deeply sorry for it. I can say wholeheartedly that you are a most beautiful woman who deserves happiness in life. But that happiness will not be found with me. My heart belongs to another, and for that, I would never have entertained what you insinuate.”
He released her, and she stepped back, those coquettish eyes hardening into something that appeared very different. The mask that she wore, just as he wore his, slipped away from her face, and he saw the rage rise as she glared at him.
“I will have no more part in this; I hope I have been plain in that,” he finished firmly.
He turned away from her, the nausea that had arisen at her touch subsiding as he thought of seeing Miss Crompton again. He walked toward the drawing room windows to return to the party, only to see Miss Crompton’s retreating figure running from the room.
***
Nicholas cursed under his breath, sprinting after Miss Crompton as fast as he was able.
He ran through the drawing room and into the hallway, skidding to a stop and startling Lady Bartholomew and Lady Garriton. He looked about him frantically, ignorant as to where Miss Crompton had run to and desperate to find her.
He walked to the library hastily, trying to keep his steps as brisk as possible. Upon entering, there was no one to be seen, and he began to despair.
What did she see? If she had entered at the wrong moment, she would either have seen his violent denial of his affections, or Lady Wilde’s hand upon his chest. He closed his eyes, wishing he had pushed her away immediately, but he had been too paralysed with shock.
Show her in your actions…
His aunt’s words floated through his mind, and he almost groaned aloud. If nothing else, this would convince Miss Crompton of her suspicions. That he was a rake, that his old ways were returning, that he would be more interested in a widow with fortune than a young, beautiful woman who had faced scandal.
If he had been a different man, he would have run his fist into the wall in his frustration.
There was a bustle of voices from outside, and he left the library, tugging on his coat to head outside immediately.
He emerged from the house to find the sleighs had been lined up. Eleanor had ordered three, all pulled by a single horse each. They were ornate, with gold across the edges, deep red, and very fitting with the season. Each horse was a different colour, one pure white with a long shimmering mane that matched the white countryside behind it.
He looked around frantically at the many faces of the crowd, but there suddenly seemed too many people to count and hecould not see Clarissa’s amongst them.
“Nicholas!” his aunt called. She was seated in her sleigh with Rosemary and Henry, and she waved at him. There was nothing for it. He could not go back into the house to search for Miss Crompton without embarrassing his aunt in front of all of her guests.
He forced a smile, keeping his eyes roaming over all the faces, but Clarissa was nowhere to be seen. He climbed into the sleigh, receiving the blanket over his knees from his sister, and attempted a smile.
“What is the matter?” Rosemary asked with concern. Nicholas looked at her and then at Henry, seeing the obvious query in their eyes.
“All is well,” he murmured, feeling as though the world were opening beneath his feet and he had fallen into a deep and endless cavern.
As they set off, he took one last look behind him. If he could just ascertain which carriage she was in perhaps he could contrive to swap if they stopped.
He was anxious to speak with her and to explain. He had not seen her face, but the way she had run from the room suggested she had seen the worst. All of her suspicions would have been confirmed. He barely saw the beautiful countryside around him or listened to his sister’s rapturous excitement at the event.
He had never regretted his decisions or the life he had led more completely than he did at that moment.
Curse Madeline Wilde for her misdeeds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Clarissa waited until Lord Bolton had climbed into the carriage with his aunt before she came out of the house.
The image of Lady Wilde’s hand on his chest was burned forever in her mind, and she felt sick. All she had thought of him, her beliefs of his change in character, were dashed to pieces. She had suspected right from the beginning that a beautiful woman such as Lady Wilde would be entirely the sort of person he would pursue. Now she had proof that she had been correct all along.
She was convinced that his interest in her was false. He had done it to deflect any suspicion about his feelings for Lady Wilde.
And yet…
She climbed into the carriage with her mother and father. Her mother was bundled up in long white fur, making her look like a snow queen. Emily sat beside her, a pretty bonnet on her head, adorned with holly on one side.
“You look very pale, Clarissa,” her mother muttered, thrusting a blanket at her. “Are you ill?”
