Page 60 of A Lyon’s Lesson

“My poor girl, the servants were afraid to tell you. As Mr. Hendrix told me.”

“So, you took it upon yourself to tell me,” she said with a bitter smile.

“It seemed the lesser cruelty. To keep you in ignorance of such a thing seems wrong,” he admitted with a sad look that made her stomach heave. She wanted to snatch her hands from his grasp and slap his face for his deception. But she was fully alive to the danger he posed to her.

She took a breath to calm herself and asked a question that had started nagging at the back of her head, “I thought you had left the area. Why are you back?”

“I had gone to visit friends and was returning to London this way. I was in the village when I heard the rumors and came here to ascertain if they were true and to offer you what help I could.”

“Rick made it clear you were not welcome here. You have accomplished your goal, and I do not need your help, so you can leave now,” she said firmly, pulling her hands out of his grasp and rising.

He rose with her and said quietly, “I think not, Cecelia.” The look in his eyes made her heart stutter, and she took an involuntary step back.

“I have asked you to leave. Any gentleman would do so.”

“Gentlemen have the luxury of courtesies that I do not,” he said heavily. “This course of action pains me. It is not what I would have chosen, but you see, I have no choice.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, caught between fear and irritation.

“I mean that Lord Kenrick’s unfortunate demise clears the way for you to marry me, which is what should have happened in the first place.”

“What? You’re mad!” she said, recoiling. “For one thing, I have no proof that Rick is dead—” her voice cracked on the word, and she swallowed. “And for another, even if he were—which I refuse to believe—you are the last person I would marry!

“But my dear Cecelia, you have not considered the advantages of the situation. When my father passes, a day not too far distant, for his health is precarious, I will make you a marchioness, with an estate that makes this one look puny.”

“I don’t care for that! Rick is worth a hundred of you!” she said, with rising fury.

“Your loyalty does you credit, my dear, but it is wasted on a man who doesn’t love you. One who was forced into marrying you against his will.”

Her vision darkened around the edges as she stepped back, fumbling for something to lean on. “You know nothing about Rick’s feelings for me,” she said her heart pounding wildly.

“My dear, you have gone dangerously pale,” he said soothingly, stepping toward her. He slid an arm around her waist, and she put up a hand to push him away, but her head was feeling woozy, and it was a weak gesture.

He guided her back to the settee, and she sank down gratefully, for her legs felt horribly wobbly, and her stomach fluttered unpleasantly.

He repossessed himself of her hand and sat again beside her. “I know the truth is painful, my dear, but the fact is that Rick was manipulated into marrying you by Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He owed her money which she would have forced him to pay—or have him sent to debtors’ prison—if he hadn’t signed the contract to marry you. She intended you for him from the start of that ridiculous charade that night. The cards were rigged so that he won. He had no choice in the matter.”

Cecey listened to these words, and she knew them to be true. But Rick had become reconciled to their marriage. He did care for her—at least she had begun to think that he was starting to. But then when he discovered she was pregnant—she swallowed the bitterness at the back her throat.

He ran. He wasn’t in the least bit pleased. He ran like a coward. Like he did that night at Lady Pennington’s ball, leaving her to face the shame and humiliation alone. Bidenden was right. He didn’t love her. Because if he did, he would never have gone to London in the middle of the night like that, without a word of goodbye or reassurance.

A great ache settled into her chest and tears she couldn’t stem flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. And now he might be dead! The thought was so horrendous she doubled over with the pain, a choked sob escaping her throat. Because irrespective of how he felt about her, she loved him! All the instances when he had been kind to her, been protective of her, come to her defense, tumbled back into her mind and heart. Hitting Bidenden and comforting her. Holding her when she cried after they’d encountered Bidenden at Berrisford Park. Being sweet to her when she found Annie and was crying like a watering pot. And how concerned he was when the curricle tipped over. The necklace he bought her.

He does love me . . . a bit . . . doesn’t he?

She sobbed helplessly, her face buried in her hands and was barely conscious of Bidenden rubbing her back and murmuring things in a low tone. He eased her into his arms, and she collapsed into them, knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stem the flood of tears and the waves of pain in her chest. If Rick was dead, she didn’t know how she would survive.

“There, there, my dear. It’s a terrible shock, but time will heal it. Hush, you’re not alone anymore. I won’t leave you.”

These last words got through the haze of pain and despair and jerked her out of her trance of misery. Everything this toad had done to her came crashing back in, and she pulled back, scrambling out of his reach, rising and retreating.

“No! I don’t need you. Go away!” She gulped, wiping her face, groping for a new handkerchief.

“My dear, you do need me. You’re a woman alone. You’re vulnerable.”

“I’m not alone! Hereward will come back. He will look after me.”

“Kenrick’s brother?” he frowned. “What has he to do with it?” Her heart lifted at these words. He didn’t know about Hereward? Then Hendrix must not have known. She recalled that it was the footman who showed Hereward up to her at the time. A small glimmer of hope lit a flame in her heart.