She hauled her mind back from the edge of the vortex waiting to suck her down. If she let herself fall into it, she would be ranting and raving, but she had children and a household to manage; she couldn’t afford to succumb.
At least not until I’m safe in my room at the Priory, out of sight and sound of everyone.
“Tell Parker I won’t be changing—I’ll go as I am. She’ll know what needs to be packed.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Portland bowed, and without acknowledging Child at all, Therese turned and made for the little reception room she used as her private sitting room.
Behind her, she heard Child murmur something to Portland, then Child strode after her.
With her lips set in an uncompromising line, she reached her sanctum, opened the door, and walked in, leaving the door swinging. She headed for the desk on which her diary sat, open to the page for the current week.
Child followed her into the room and shut the door. “Therese—”
“I would rather not speak about what we saw.” She rounded the desk and halted and, in the same rigidly controlled and distant tone, added, “And you have no authority or right to interfere in whatever I choose to do.”
“No, I don’t.” Child drew in a breath and carefully said, “All I can do is ask you to think things through.”
She looked down at her diary, scanning the entries for the next week.
He stepped closer. “Please. If you think about the possibilities—”
“I can’t.” She’d replied without glancing up. When she did, she saw Child frown.
“Can’t what?” he asked.
“Can’tthink.” Looking down again, she confirmed that there was no event she’d agreed to attend over the coming week for which she couldn’t easily write an apology. She shut the diary, picked it up, and faced Child. “I can’t think, not about that. If I do, I’ll…” Her hold on the tempest inside her wavered. She sucked in a quick breath, held it, and pushed the roiling emotions down. She waved one hand and, in a weaker voice, said, “Explode. Shatter into a million pieces.”
Alarm flared in Child’s eyes. He searched her face, pressed his lips together, then offered, “Then let me think for you. What we saw…” He drew in a breath. “There has to be some rational explanation. Something other than the conclusion you’ve obviously leapt to.”
“Not unless business is now being conducted by beautiful women out of houses in Covent Garden—” She broke off, then head tipping, admitted, “Well, I suppose it could be said that there is at least one business beautiful women have long been known to conduct from houses around Covent Garden.”
Child’s jaw clenched. “I’ve known Devlin all my life. Ladybirds and opera dancers were never his style.”
She arched her brows. “Really? But then you haven’t known him for the past umpteen years. Now he’s married, who knows what hisstyleis?” Temper stirring, she met Child’s eyes. “You certainly don’t.”
Child shut his lips, pressing them tight.
She nodded. “Just so.” She stepped around the desk and started past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
He swung around and caught her sleeve. “Therese, please—”
“No!” She halted and closed her eyes, jaw tight as she fought to rein in her temper—and failed. But this was a different sort of temper, one without heat. A cold, raging fury, it erupted and filled every corner of her mind. She was hurt,wounded, and she no longer cared if it showed.
She opened her eyes and rounded on Child. Whatever he saw in her face, in her eyes, had him releasing her and taking a step back. She narrowed her gaze on his face. “Yesterday, my husband told me he loved me. For the first time. He told me, and he made me believe it. He repeated that vow this morning and convinced me that I could finally have”—her voice broke, but she forged on—“something precious that I hadn’t even known I’d yearned for for years.”
She hauled in a breath and held it; she’d been right in her description—she felt as if she was breaking into sharp, jagged, frozen pieces inside. The churning fury in her mind thrust a single burning question into her mouth, and she skewered Child with her gaze. “Can a man truly love two women at the same time?”
Faced with such incandescent fury and instinctively knowing he couldn’t reach her, with exasperated candor, Child replied, “Don’t ask me. I haven’t fallen in love with one woman, let alone two.”
Her eyes blazed. “Even if he does think he loves me, I wish he hadn’t told me, because clearly, what he means by love isn’t what I thought! I would rather have continued in blissful ignorance. What does he expect me to do?” She fixed her burning eyes on Child. “Share him?”
There wasn’t any viable answer to that.
Feeling utterly helpless—and very glad she was not his wife—Child was cravenly grateful when a tap on the door had her swinging around and icily demanding, “Yes?”
Portland entered, armored in the unshakeable imperturbability of an experienced ton butler. “My lady, Nanny Sprockett wishes to inquire how long you expect to remain at the Priory. Also, Dennis has returned with the required tickets, and he confirmed that the train is scheduled to depart at five minutes after six o’clock.”
