She knew she had to say yes—for her mother, for her sister—but her treacherous, selfish lips would not form the word. The parlor door banged open in that instant, and her mother fairly stumbled in, a horrified look upon her face. Nora was behind her.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Nora sang, and Lilias understood that Nora must have leaned against their mother and caused them both to fall into the door, which hadn’t been shut firmly.
“Lilias, have you accepted?” Nora asked, the picture of wide-eyed innocence and poverty with her too small gown that had a hem trailing and was approaching threadbare.
“Nora,” Mama chided, looking as if she was about to faint, looking exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.
How had Lilias been so blind to what was really occurring with everyone around her? How could she say no?
She could not.
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Nash!”
The skip in Owen’s step as he happily waltzed into the study and past Nash’s butler was like a dagger in Nash’s heart. So the deed was done. Owen had obviously asked Lilias to wed him, and she must have said yes.
“I take it you are betrothed,” Nash said and quickly cleared his throat. His voice sounded shaky. Why was this so damned hard to speak of?
“Yes,” Owen replied, a rather smug look coming to his face. He half sat on the edge of Nash’s desk, grinning like a peacock. “I can’t tarry. I have a great deal to do today, but I wanted you to hear it from me and give you my thanks for all you did to assist me in getting the girl I love.”
Nash knew he needed to reply. Owen was looking at him expectantly, and so Nash wrestled with his mind, which felt sluggish, to come up with a suitable response, but it was hard. So very hard. He imagined congratulating Owen, but the thought curdled on his tongue. He imagined punching him in his irritating smile. Nash gripped his desk on that idea. In the end, all he could manage was, “Excellent.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Owen crowed. “I don’t mind telling you now, but I had created fears in my head that did not exist. I had thought perhaps she might turn me down because I’m not overly exciting or that she held some ridiculous girlhood tendre for you that would have been roused by your reappearance.”
Nash wasn’t sure if he groaned or laughed at Owen’s words, but he’d done something. Owen was looking at him quizzically and took in a hissing breath. “I’m pleased to report I had worried over nothing. She kissed me last night on the balcony, and she was beside herself with joy this morning when I called upon her.”
Nash did not feel like himself. He was in some other man’s skin, a man who had to respond, to act happy, to be affable. He forced a smile to lips that felt brittle. “I’m glad.”Glad that Owen has to depart soon.“Where is it you need to be?” Time could not move Owen in that direction fast enough. Nash tried to swallow, but his throat no longer worked. He was parched, dry inside. The life was being sucked out of him.
“Oh, here and there,” Owen said, rising. “I’ll see you soon.”
Nash managed a grunt as Owen made for the door, and it was damn lucky Owen did not look back and say anything else. A single thread of restraint held Nash in place at the moment, and when his study door shut, he shoved back his chair, made for the wall, counted to one hundred to ensure Owen was far enough away, and then he began to beat his fist against the wall until the pain in his hand overshadowed the pain in his chest.
“I didn’t know ye frequented my club.”
Nash scowled but turned in his chair at Carrington’s voice behind him. “This is my first visit since you told me of your partial ownership in it,” Nash replied, then picked up the drink that had just been delivered to him and downed it in one gulp.
“Mind if I sit?” Carrington asked, sweeping a hand toward the empty chair across the table.
Nash was not in the mood for company, especially a man wed to Lilias’s best friend, even if Carrington was Nash’s friend, as well. The duke was bound to mention Lilias, her ruination, and the subsequent gossip. It had taken him all day since Owen’s visit to get himself under control. He felt like a caged lion, which was why he was here imbibing.
He still could not manage to feel pleased for Owen and Lilias, though he should, given what he’d set out to do had been accomplished. He may have failed his brother, but he had not failed Owen. Nash had proven to himself that he could be painfully selfless. He should feel somewhat redeemed, but instead he felt damned. A blackness was swallowing him, and God help him, he wanted to let it, but he had responsibilities.
When Carrington cocked his eyebrows at Nash, he realized he had not answered his friend’s question. “If you wish,” Nash replied, raising his hand toward a serving girl standing by one of the fireplaces.
Carrington mimicked the gesture as he pulled out the empty chair and sat, eyeing Nash’s wrapped hand. “What happened to yer hand?”
“It met a wall,” Nash replied flatly.
Carrington cocked an eyebrow at that but wisely did not ask. “I hear Blackwood and Lady Lilias are to wed.”
Nash’s teeth instinctively clenched as the serving girl came to stand by their table. He tapped the side of his glass to indicate he’d have another of the same while Carrington placed his order. When the girl left, Nash forced himself to answer. “Yes, Owen told me this morning.”
Carrington’s gaze touched on Nash’s wrapped hand once more, then met Nash’s eyes, probing him. “My wife was verra surprised Lady Lilias agreed to wed him.”
Lilias’s image popped into Nash’s head unbidden. Her full-lipped smile. Good God, why could he not forget that smile? It teased and tormented him. Nash tried not to react to his own roaring memories or Carrington’s news. “Was she?” he said mildly, fighting back a frown with such fierceness that his temples throbbed. “Why would her friend agreeing to wed the man who has her heart surprise your wife?” He was pleased with how bored he sounded and that the girl was returning with their libations. He could use his drink as a distraction, lest Carrington see something on Nash’s face that he did not want the man to bear witness to.
“I had a wager with myself whether ye’d take up the bait I threw out,” Carrington said, his voice smooth as a polished rock.
