Page 42 of The Rogue’s Offer

There was a repentant look on the young man’s face as he looked down into Lizzie’s eyes. Her sister’s expression softened as she smiled at him. The look exchanged between the two of them made Ophelia suddenly feel as though she were an interloper. It also aroused a twinge of envy at her sister’s obvious happiness. She immediately squashed the emotion. Lizzie was happy, and that was all that mattered.

“Didn’t the two of you have plans to walk in the park?” Ophelia said with a smile.

“We did. I promised Miss Sheffield that we would buy some breadcrumbs with which to feed the swans.” Paul Nickens said cheerfully. “Perhaps you would like to join us, my lady.”

“Oh yes, please do, Ophelia. The weather is most agreeable today.”

“Thank you, no. I have correspondence that needs attention.”

With a wave of her hand, she urged the couple out of the room. As the two left, Ophelia returned to the parlor. She stared around the room noting how small it looked with Lizzie’s piano and the other pieces of furniture that had come with the townhome. An image of Marymont’s large rooms and high ceilings filled her head. It filled her with a longing to go home.

It would have to wait until Paul Nickens proposed to Lizzie, and from the way the man had looked at her sister this morning, she was certain that moment was imminent. With finances being what they were, a small wedding would be a necessity. But then, knowing Lizzie as she did, she was certain her sister would want to be married in the small church they attended while at Marymont. The only real extravagance would be Lizzie’s trousseau and wedding gown. A smile touched her lips as she imagined the excitement of a wedding. On the heels of that thought was the knowledge she would never know the happiness she was certain her sister would. A small noise of self-disgust blew past her lips. She would be perfectly happy at Marymont, where she would be free of the dictates of any man. The sound of her stomach growling reminded her she hadn’t eaten since dinner at Chelmsford House. She rang for Taggert then moved to the small secretaire in the corner of the room. The name of a men’s tailor on one of the bills lying on the desk made her heart sink. For the second time in a month, her father had apparently order a new coat.

“Good morning, my lady.” At the butler’s polite greeting, Ophelia looked up from the bill to see Taggert standing patiently in the parlor doorway. she greeted him with a smile.

“I’d like some tea and toast, Taggert.”

“Of course, my lady.” The butler turned away, but stopped when Ophelia called to him.

“Oh, and is my father home?”

“No, my lady. He sent word last night that he would spend the night at his club and return later this afternoon.”

At the man’s explanation, Ophelia frowned with bitter resentment. No doubt her father had been playing cards somewhere free of any scrutiny, and had most likely lost money they didn’t have. At least he couldn’t wager Marymont again. She suddenly realized the butler was still waiting patiently for further instructions.

“Thank you, Taggert. I’ll take my tea here.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Ophelia turned back to the secretaire as the butler left the room. A weary sigh escaped her lips as she settled to the task of settling the accounts she could and setting aside those that could wait until the next month. She’d barely finished when she heard the sound of a male voice. Engrossed in her work, she’d not even heard the doorbell chime. A quick glance at the clock said it was well past eleven.

The memory of Mathias saying he would call for her at the half hour made her heart skip a beat. She’d completely forgotten her agreement to dine with him at Rules, and he was early. Frantically, she tried to think of some excuse not go with him, but failed.

Worse she’d yet to think of a way to break with him completely. The consequences of a more permanent liaison with Mathias were far too dangerous. Last night had convinced her how easily she could lose her heart to the man. It was why she had no intention of entering his bed again. Ophelia stood up quickly to face him.

As she turned toward the door, shock froze her muscles as she saw Edgar enter the room. There was a slight twist to his thin lips that was so reminiscent of his father it made her stomach roil. Ice scraped its way down her back. It caused her to shiver slightly.

If it weren’t for his personality, Edgar could almost be considered handsome, but she could already see the signs that heavy drinking had caused around the eyes and nose. She sincerely doubted the man would be a jovial drunk. No, Edgar would be just like his father—cruel, heartless, and brutal.

Obviously aware of her discomfort, her stepson smiled slowly. Striding forward, he stopped less than a foot away from her. The moment he took her hand in his, he carried it upward to brush his lips over her knuckles. When his mouth lingered over her hand, she jerked it free of his grasp.

“Why are you here, Edgar?”

“To apologize for upsetting you yesterday evening.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“You wound me, Ophelia. I’m not a heartless man.”

“No? I think you’re just a much of a brute as your father was.”

“My father was a fool to not recognize the jewel he possessed.”

“Possessed?” she said bitterly. “Yes, I suppose he did, and I have no intention of ever being a man’s personal property again.”

“And you shouldn’t be, Ophelia. You were meant to be treasured, showered in jewels, and cared for as one would a piece of art.”

At the man’s lavish compliment, she stared at him in amazement before she laughed with true amusement. Edgar’s surprise at her reaction made him eye her with puzzlement before he realized she was laughing at him. Eyes narrowing to thin slits, he studied her in silence until her laughter faded. Ophelia dismissed his embellished words with a shake of her head.