Page 77 of The Wedding Challenge

“I must stay and talk to Daphne,” he told her.

“I know.” She turned away. Her brother was watching them as he walked toward them. She could not talk any longer to Brom. She was too near tears, and if Sinclair saw a tearful goodbye, she was afraid that all Francesca’s inventive story-weaving would be for naught. And the one thing that she absolutely could not bear was for the two men she loved to fight each other again.

“Callie, wait, do not go yet,” Bromwell said, starting to reach for her.

“No. Pray, do not.” Callie looked at him. She knew her eyes were welling with tears, but she could not help it. “I must go. Goodbye, Brom.”

She closed her mouth firmly, swallowing the rest of the words that fought to surge up out of her: I love you.

Callie turned and hurried toward the carriage door. She saw with gratitude that Francesca had gone up to Sinclair, so she was able to walk past him and get into the carriage without his looking at her or speaking to her.

The duke saw his sister walk past, but his attention was all on Francesca at the moment. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, then nodded toward the team pulling her coach.

“I found the driver inside rubbing down the horses. They look rather, um, bedraggled, shall we say, for having spent the night in the stables.”

“Odd,” Francesca commented lightly. “Of course, they are not my horses. We had to change on the drive up, but still, my coachman is generally quite good at taking care of the animals. Perhaps he was tired and fell asleep as soon as we arrived. I know I did.”

“Did you?” The duke’s gaze was penetrating.

Francesca gazed back at him unflinchingly. “Yes, of course, I did. Why else should I say it? You have only to ask your sister. The hunting lodge is small, so she and I were forced to share a bedchamber.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Let us go before that blasted woman decides to come out here and plague us with more questions.”

Rochford handed Francesca up into the carriage and strode off to mount his horse, still tied to a post by the driveway. Francesca sat down in the coach beside Callie, turning to her immediately.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked, reaching out to take Callie’s hand.

Callie nodded, but when she reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes, Francesca noticed.

“Are you certain? You may tell me anything, you know. I promise you that no one will ever hear of it.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Callie said in a low voice and summoned up a smile. She did not realize how very unconvincing it was.

“Very well, then, you needn’t,” Francesca assured her. “We shall talk of something else, shall we?”

Callie nodded, but then, as if she could not hold it in, she exclaimed, “Oh, Francesca! I love him!”

She had realized it last night when she had looked into Brom’s eyes and known that he was telling her the truth. In trusting him, believing him, she had given him her heart.

“And he will never ask me to marry him,” Callie went on. “I know it.”

“Are you certain?” Francesca asked. “Surely he must realize that his sister arranged that scene. Not only putting you in a compromising position, but making sure that Rochford would arrive and find you that way! And then walking in at that exact moment, with the worst gossip in London in tow. Even I was astonished at the depth of her dishonesty, and I have despised her for years.”

“I know he realizes it, but he does not want to believe badly of her. He is very close to her. He owes her a great deal, he believes. He talked to me last night about how she raised him after his mother died, about how horrid their father was and how she protected Brom from him. No matter what she did, I am not sure that he could break with her. Even if he did, how could he marry the sister of a man whom he has hated for so long? He was beginning to have his doubts about her story about Sinclair. I could see that. But he does not want to believe that she lied to him.”

“She has an amazing ability to deceive men,” Francesca said with a touch of bitterness. “Still, love is a very powerful thing.”

“I did not say that he loved me, only that I loved him,” Callie replied, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. She did not bother to wipe them away.

“I have seen the way he looks at you,” Francesca pointed out.

“That is desire, not love,” Callie retorted. “He has never said he loves me. And I fear that I will never even see him again.”

Her last words ended on a choked sob, and she began to cry in earnest. Francesca wrapped her arm around Callie’s shoulders and pulled her close. Callie rested her head on Francesca’s shoulder and let her tears come.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IT WAS SOME TIME before Callie’s sobs began to subside, but finally she sat up and took out her handkerchief, wiping the tears from her face. She let out a long breathy sigh.