Damn Carrington.
“I inquired only out of politeness,” Nash retorted, feeling surly. “You wouldn’t know about that, though. You were raised in Scotland, where manners are not taught. You are in the heart of England now, my friend, and it’s polite to respond to people’s leading statements.”
Carrington scoffed. “Ye never did that in Scotland. Ye ignored me.”
“I adapt to the expectations of my surroundings,” Nash replied, forcing a smile.
“As I was saying,” Carrington continued, then took a swig of his drink before completing his sentence, “my wife was surprised.”
Nash let silence fall between them. He had no intention of rising to the bait again, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Are ye not going to ask why?”
“No.” But if Carrington didn’t offer the answer anyway, Nash might just use the man’s perfectly tied cravat to strangle him. “A cravat does not suit you tied like that. I could rework it for you.” He did not hide the veiled threat in his tone.
Carrington laughed. “I’d like to see ye try. But as I wish to return home soon, I’ll just get to my point.”
“That would be bloody amazing. This conversation is fast becoming tedious.”
Carrington flashed a grin. “Guinevere was surprised that Lady Lilias accepted Blackwood’s offer because she does not believe her friend loves the man. Guinevere feels Lilias must have been compelled to accept him so that she could aid her mother and sister financially.”
The drink Nash had picked up fell from his hand, hit the table, and sloshed liquor over the dark wood. The glass tilted onto its side with a rattle.
Nash didn’t move. He was too stunned, but Carrington did. He righted the glass before it spilled completely, then met Nash’s gaze. “I know of yer history with Lady Lilias. Guinevere told me.”
“There is no history but a brief friendship.” It was a bloody lie. He worshipped her.
I vowed not to interfere. But if she doesn’t love Owen… If she’s wedding Owen only for her family’s sake…
“Shut up,” he hissed to himself.
“Pardon?” Carrington said with a frown.
Good Christ. Nash swiped a hand over his face. He was going mad. Thoughts of Lilias were stealing his sanity.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he muttered.
It didn’t matter why she’d accepted Owen’s proposal. He could not allow it to matter. He had to stick to his damn bloody vow. He had to put Owen first. The yearning hammering him taunted him to do otherwise. He could not talk about them anymore. If he could, he would leave London again, but his sister needed to be taken in hand.
“Why are you here and not with your wife?” he asked, hoping Carrington would go along with the change of subject.
Carrington looked contemplative for a moment, and then he leaned forward. “My wife is in a secret society for women,” he said, voice pitched low. “The Society of Ladies Against Rogues. SLAR.”
“How interesting,” Nash murmured, not really caring. He cared about nothing but Lilias. It was maddeningly awful. Sitting here, he felt dead inside knowing she would be wedding Owen, knowing it was his penance to allow it.
Carrington scrutinized him for a moment, as if he realized Nash’s mind was elsewhere. “My wife started the society after I hurt her greatly. Interestingly enough, Lady Lilias is also in SLAR. It’s made up of women who either have been ruined by a rogue or have had their hearts broken by a rogue. Or both.”
Struck, he opened his mouth to demand more information and then promptly shut it. No. He could not ask. He could not. The desire to do so, though, clawed at his throat. Had she joined the society because of him?
Impossible.
A hammer started in his head, banging his skull and rattling his composure. She had once believed him to be a man he was not. She had not known his secrets. Was it possible she had felt the endless depths of what he had felt, what he still felt? No. Damn it, no. He could not allow himself to go there. Yet, his mind went like a moth to flame. Was it possible? The question echoed in his head, becoming his heartbeat. Even if it was, he was not the man she had thought he was. She didn’t know the things he’d done. She wouldn’t wish ever to be with him if she knew. She was wrapped in pureness and loyalty and honor. He was wrapped in wickedness.
“In fact, Lady Lilias is a founding member,” Carrington said, studying Nash. “She and my wife.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Nash was a blink away from getting up and leaving. He’d never known information could be so much torture.
“Ye asked.”
