What on earth was her aunt thinking?
“Robert?” Portia asked. “Why are you hollering your ire in the middle of the night?”
Her father glanced at Portia, then beyond her to the man at her back. “Brayton? What are you doing here.”
Brayton?
As intheJack Brayton? The infamous hotelier?
Phaedra’s exhaustion suddenly disappeared.
According to the gossip, if this was him, he was no gentleman. Not by birth. Not by character. And apparently, not in bed.
“Do not try to shift the attention to Portia and her guest, Robert,” the countess hastily put in. “You have some explaining to do!”
“Ihave explaining to do?” A short pause. “Herguest? What sort of guest is he?” her father demanded.
Phaedra glanced at her aunt, who winked at her and mouthed for her to go. She instantly understood. Her aunt was diverting her father’s attention away from her, and quite possibly to a bigger scandal looming on the horizon.
Phaedra fled the room.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Deerhurst’s confession kept playing in her head, making her dizzy. The moment she shut the door to her chamber, tears spilled down her cheeks, and she finally let out the emotion she’d been holding at bay.
*
Deerhurst tossed backa tumbler of brandy, welcoming the burn of the liquid spreading down his throat. He did his best to ignore the pain that pounded in his chest as though it had a life of its own. His heart was shattering from the loss of her.
After the mess of his youth, he never thought love would be in his future. He certainly had never imagined it could be this painful. After all, his responsibilities required him to be practical, and caution had become the grounds on which he rebuilt his life after he’d discovered his daughter.
Now he had lost the woman he loved. And for what? He couldn’t even say. Yes, he had made mistakes. But were they unforgiveable? No.
Maybe.
Perhaps her rejection was punishment for his past. After all, he’d had a torrid affair with a married woman and a secret child out of wedlock. And what had he done now? Had an affair with an unmarried woman.
It was Olivia all over again.
Only this timehewas the one obsessed. It was only now that he could somewhat understand Olivia’s actions. The letters. The tears. The relentless pursuit.
Warrick and Saville plopped down at his table.
“Go away.” He was in no mood for his friends tonight. He wasn’t even in the mood for White’s, but he didn’t dare go back to his house. The temptation to go to her was too great.
“Why so sour?” Warrick asked.
Deerhurst shot his friend a glare. “You lost the damn list.”
“Bloody hell,” Warrick growled. “How many times do I have to be raked over the coals for that?”
“My apologies,” Deerhurst said deadpan. “You wrote down every damn word on the list.”
“Cannot argue with that,” Saville said. To Deerhurst, he murmured, “You’ve got Sharp troubles, I gather.”
“Phaedra will have nothing to do with me.”
“She will come around,” Saville said, accepting the drink the waiter brought over. “Lady Ophelia did, and it was Avondale’s list.”
Deerhurst tossed down another brandy. They wouldn’t understand. Lady Ophelia did not share the same fears Phaedra did. Besides, Lady Ophelia loved Avondale. Phaedra didn’t love him. She would have forgiven him if she had. She cared for him, yes, but he’d seen nothing but distrust in her eyes in the Stewart’s study.
