Christ.
But his chestached.
So, he didn’t feel nothing. He certainly felt something. But he wouldn’t call it love either. They’d had a moment. Very well, they’d had a few moments. Breathtaking, irresistible, heart palpitating moments. But that’s all they were, and that’s why he felt rather discomposed by Talbot finally telling his daughter the truth about the Cavanaghs.
But Helgate also wasn’t wrong. Hedidwant her to believe it. If he ever told her about his part in it, that was.
Helgate sipped his ale. “In any event, if she deserves to know the truth, doesn’t she deserve to know thefulltruth? Whether you pursue her or not, love her or not, at the very least, you ought to give her that. And you know it. Why else would I even have found you here still? You ought to have been on your way back to London, but here you still are. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, could you?”
No, he couldn’t.
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
A hand patted his shoulder. “Whether she believes you are not is for her to decide. At least your conscience will be clear. Besides, the Lady Louisa I came to know these past few days is not to be underestimated. She possesses a capable mind of her own.”
Oliver recalled the fury she had displayed when Talbot hadn’t shown enough ire against his wife. Helgate was right. No matterwhat the outcome, whether he was hated or not, she deserved the full truth.
If nothing else, he could give her that.
Chapter Twenty
Louisa sighed—again—drawing anotherlook from their cook.
“This can’t go on, dearie,” Cook said. “What ails you to darken my kitchen with all these sighs?”
Louisa sighed again. “Would you rather have me cry?” It was one or the other, and she wasn’t in the mood to cry. If she started, she didn’t think she would ever be able to stop, which she couldn’t understand either.
She had no reason to cry. She ought to be happy. Everything had worked out in the end. It was over. No regrets. And she would never have to worry about Camilla again. That alone should have had her waltzing around the halls.
It must be the tiredness.
Or her father’s shocking revelation about her kidnapping. She’d retired to her chamber immediately after everything that had transpired in the duchess’s. She hadn’t wanted to think about any of it. But she couldn’t shut her eyes long enough to sleep. The moment she lowered her eyelids, flashes of ten years ago would return.
Laughter. Raindrops. A hard mattress.
Oliver’s family had kidnapped her. Was he the one who had snatched her away from her family? Was he one of the reasons nightmares plagued her slumber? These were the thoughts that tortured her.
Not knowing the answer was so vexing!
“I’d rather you smile, dearie,” Cook waved a spoon at her cup. “And drink your milk. You’ve been staring at it so long that it must have turned to ice.”
Louisa would rather smile as well.
Her lips just . . . wouldn’t.
That dreadful“It’s true”kept ringing in her head.
“I should have asked him,” she muttered to herself, but the duke had left so quickly in the wake of his admission. He hadn’t even given her time to process!
And he had known the truth from the very start and said nothing. Had he perhaps presumed that she already knew but didn’t care, or had he suspected she’d been left in the dark, and decided to keep her there?
This was what she loathed about the male species in general. They made up their minds entirely on their own about what was best for their female counterparts and what was not. It was so blasted infuriating.
She slammed her hand on the table. A maid who just entered the kitchen leaped nearly a foot in their air. “By Jove, that man will drive me to Bedlam.”
Cook merely raised a brow. “Who are you speaking of, dearie?”
“Oh,” Leo’s voice came from behind the maid who had entered. “She fancies our previous gardener, turned footman, turned Bow Street officer, turned Duke of Mortimer, family enemy.”
