Chapter Ten

Night at the Theater

Theodosia shifted in her seat. The actor’s voice couldn’t drown out the thunder or the memories. She’d paid attention to the horrible story, wondering why Ewan could think this Shakespeare so fine. Fighting, complaining, tricks, and starvation—that felt a little too familiar, too Fitzwilliam.

A boom moaned above. The storm sounded as if it were gaining force, coming for her again. She shivered and pulled her wrap tighter about her arms.

The world around her rumbled. It sounded ghostly, as if it whispered her name. She pivoted in time with the next crash and caught the dark curtains swaying. The storm had to be atop her. Her gaze became glued to the velvet. It shrouded this box as it did the space she had hidden inside at the brothel. Mama told her to be quiet, but how could she, trapped by the storm?

A hand grabbed hers and she almost screamed, but she was too scared. And Mama would be angry.

“Theodosia, are you well?”

The voice wasn’t Mama’s, so Theodosia didn’t move. She wasn’t supposed to, not till she heard the signal. She hated the coal scuttle within the brothel wall and how it made every violent pound of thunder echo.

A gloved hand slipped onto hers, but she couldn’t say anything; she hadn’t heard Mama’s knock. “Theodosia. You don’t look well. Dear?”

The tones, the concern… It sounded like Ester, but why would she be here? Good girls like Ester wouldn’t be in a brothel.

“Theodosia.”

Something shook her by the shoulders, and she tensed. Blinking heavily made the world right. Frederica’s arms were about her.

Disgusted by her fears, she shook free, not wanting to be touched, even by a friend. “I’m not feeling well. I need to go home.”

Ester frowned deeply with her lips pressed tightly. “No. The new actor, the one who’s all the rage. He hasn’t come back out yet.”

Frederica’s fun face seemed blank, but she nodded. “This isn’t any fun for you. I’ll signal a groom, and we’ll get you to your carriage.”

She’d ruined her friend’s evening out. Theodosia’s insides hurt. “Stay. I’ve done enough to disrupt what should be a fun occasion. I’m ashamed…to do this to you two. I wish to make myself invisible.”

Wrinkling her gown, Ester crouched down, pried off a glove, and applied the back of her hand to Theodosia’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with being frightened.”

“Yes, nothing at all.” The man’s voice, the one that haunted her soul, introduced himself. “I’m Mrs. Cecil’s cousin. I’ll see her home.”

A little damp, with a dark curl plastered to his forehead beneath his beaver-skinned hat, Ewan stepped fully inside. “I’m here for you Th— Mrs. Cecil. I’ll get you safely to your carriage.”

Why? Why was Ewan haunting her outside of Tradenwood and on a stormy night? Theodosia stood up and stared at him. “Not you.”

Gripping her hand and not letting go, Frederica stepped toward Ewan. “This is a private box. You have no business here.”

The grin on his face looked triumphant. Would he shame her in front of her friends by bringing up their tawdry past? Oh goodness, would he tell them of the loving, the leaving, and the lies? With lips pressed shut, he bowed. “Miss.”

“Miss Burghley.” Frederica kept her voice soft but her chin high.

Nothing intimidated her, but shy Ester had skittered to the side in the corner.

“Ladies, I’ll make sure Mrs. Cecil gets home safely.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “From what I recall, she doesn’t do well with storms.”

Theodosia’s cheeks heated. She’d fan her face but that would let Ewan know she was weak.

“No.” Surely not understanding his reference, Frederica didn’t move. She stood as an equal to the son of the earl. “I will send her to her carriage. You may leave.”

But Ewan didn’t move, and the heat of his steady gaze made Theodosia’s pimpled arms feel warm, too. “My cousin can trust me.”

With a brow raised, Ester came out of the shadows, looking back and forth between Ewan and Theo. “Frederica, why is your cousin here? Does he know the duke?”

“No, Ester, he means me. He was my Cecil’s cousin. This is Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes. We are cousins by marriage. My family is Mrs. Cecil’s neighbor and sometimes business rival.” He extended his hand again. “It is my pleasure to assist you.”

Frederica smoothed her gloves. “Fitzwilliam,” she said in a voice not as strong as before, “as in the flower rivals, as in up the hill from Tradenwood.”

Theodosia forgot about the new rocking of thunder and focused on getting Ewan away from her friends. Signaling that she conceded, she nodded to her conquering ghost. “Yes, he is the second son of Lord Crisdon. He is my late husband’s cousin.”

“Guilty.” Ewan’s smile grew with bigger dimples, evil I-shall-now-embarrass-you-more dimples.

She braced for his worst and that made his grin worse.

He tapped the edge of her chair. “As her cousin by marriage, it’s my duty and honor to be of service.”

Frederica squinted at Ewan as if there was some sort of recognition firing in her brainbox. “The man from the patio. Seems you not only do night deliveries, but pickups, too.” Frederica drew Theodosia’s palm up to the small diamond necklace hanging about her neck and the creamy gold ruffles of her bodice. “If you wish to leave with your cousin you may. Ester and I will be fine. We’ll have to do better with weather on our outings. The Cecil Festival must have perfect weather. I will put all my hopes on that and you.”

The look in her friend’s eye, the love and reassurance filled that spot in Theodosia where all had drained. With more confidence in herself, she determined it would be better to go with Ewan than to expose her friends to whatever tricks her ghost had planned. “It will be perfect, just as Cecil wanted. I’ll accept your offer, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

Thunder crackled as she took his hand. The glint in his bluer-than-blue eyes surely meant she’d done what he wanted her to do. That was almost scarier than the noise.

The crowd below erupted.

Ester’s mouth gaped, but then closed. She nodded and turned back to the stage. Maybe her dream actor had arrived.

Frederica bounced in front and drew the curtain open for them. “You make sure your cousin gets to Tradenwood safely, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

“Ladies, I’ll see you Monday for the final preparations,” she said, counting seconds after the latest streak of lightning.

“It will be my duty to see she’s handled with care,” Ewan said. “Evening, ladies.”

Free of the box, Theodosia dropped his hand, adjusted her cape, and walked past him. “Good night, sir.”

“Not so fast.” Triumphant, smiling, and too handsome for words, Ewan clasped Theodosia’s hand, pinning it to his arm, as if she’d escape. “Don’t want you to fall. It’s treacherous tonight. The stairs might be wet.”

No, it was more dangerous to have her hand in his, to be nestled next to the scars upon his chest. Pulling away had to be done at the right moment to leave Ewan stewing. Patience, as Mathew would say, would win, or at least retain, her peace.

He laced his fingers with hers. “Not too much further.”

They stood about halfway down, moving farther and farther from the lone window that let in light and stars, if there were any. She squinted and could see the exit, the door she’d entered. “Thank you for helping me out of here.”

“My pleasure. Ghosts can be helpful, especially those bent on apologizing.”

Without responding, she took another tread. Truthfully, she’d let horrible Napoleon help her out of here, if it meant getting her more quickly to Tradenwood.

“Theo, I remember how storms make you nervous. I’m remembering a great deal.”

His voice purred against her ear, but she didn’t have the luxury of swatting him in public. Who knew how much the slap would echo in the stairwell. “Ewan, no games. Please get me to my carriage like you said you would. Your word is good?”

“As good as yours, my grieving widowed cousin.” He moved slower and held fast to her hand.

She tugged but he didn’t budge. “Is something wrong?”

“I was wondering if you enjoyed the play? The Taming of the Shrew. Maybe the storm kept you from paying attention.”

“I followed. A woman marries a beast who starves her. I didn’t enjoy that.”

He chuckled and hummed, but his hands tightened about hers, keeping her next to him all the way down to the last step. “Yes, Petruchio wasn’t nice to Katherina. Perhaps he didn’t understand how to get past her anger.”

“I’m no shrew.”

“I’m the shrew, Theo. I was so angry at you; I couldn’t see past my anger. I forgive you.”

A flash of light from the window above made the dark passage glow, framed his face with what looked like truth, but she didn’t want that now. Too many things needed to happen to protect Philip without her growing weakness for Ewan putting things into jeopardy.

“I said I forgive you, Theo. Have you nothing to say to me.”

“What do you want from me, other than a lease for your father?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m duty bound to find out.”

Another bone-jarring thud of thunder groaned, and he slid her into his arms. Like in the fields, she hid against his chest. The world moaned outside, echoing in the darkened shaft, and she shook. When he pulled her closer, she didn’t resist. She needed the storm to go away. She needed to believe that something sturdy could hold her up. Right now, Ewan served the part.

But wasn’t he a part of her bondage? Initially, she’d kept her heart from Mathew by mourning Ewan. That time couldn’t be returned. She’d wasted it on a love that hadn’t been pure.

The thundering wouldn’t quit and she drove her nails into Ewan’s arm.

He didn’t squeal; he merely flattened his palm atop her squirming digits. “I have you, Theo. Don’t be afraid.”

Nobody had her. “There is much to fear. It’s called tomorrow. I can’t face its revenge again, when minds are changed and promises are broken.” She bucked up her spine and moved backward, away from him. She pushed open the door and went into the night.

She bristled beneath her cape and for an instant she wished she still stood sheltered.

“I don’t disappear that easily, Cousin.” Ewan came alongside her. “Now, where is your carriage?”

“I need no help.”

“Of course you don’t. This assistance is to keep me honest. I said I’d get you safely back to Tradenwood.”

Rain drizzled overhead and began seeping into her hair. She chided herself for standing around like a nervous hen. She would ruin her expensive gown because of Ewan. He was too near, being too nice, talking of forgiveness, reminding her of the dreams of happy-ever-after that had led her astray.

He tugged her arm. “Your carriage is over here.”

She chided herself but kept pace with his larger strides. The sooner he put her into her carriage, the sooner this haunting would end. Then, she’d be rid of her ghost and all the annoying butterflies twisting in her tummy.

“I should’ve asked you to stay in the stairwell until I retrieved your carriage. But then I wouldn’t have you at my side.”

Again, he tucked her close, as if he cared she felt fragile.

Any thought of protesting died, drowned with a flash of light and thunder crashing about them. The night smelled of rain. London smelled fresh like the fields of Tradenwood.

“Easy, Theo. Like I said, I remember.”

She froze for a second, her mind swept back to six years ago, when a boy and a girl thought they’d found love. She’d held on to the sweetness too long before giving it up to find contentment with Mathew. She bit her lip, gnawing it raw. “When will this end?”

He raised his head and looked about. “This storm isn’t done. Neither are we.”

Her stomach dropped even lower.

Ewan leaned down, within nibbling distance of her ear. “Not much farther, Mrs. Cecil.”

She looked out in the blackness. The link boys had settled down and huddled underneath overhangs. Cupping her hand to her face to focus, she finally spotted her footman at the front of the mews. “There it is. My driver must’ve known I might not stay. I debated upon turning around several times.”

He steadied her as they traipsed to her carriage. He waved off her footman. “Easy now, Mrs. Cecil. We’ll have you home in no time.”

His expression hurt her heart, making her chest thump at the sparkle of determination visible in his eyes.

Now her feet felt cold and she fretted about how he’d found her at the theater. His play. Was his scandalous work about her going to be performed in Frederica’s favorite theater?

She stiffened as his arms went about her, but she couldn’t stop him from putting his hands on her hips and lifting her inside.

“Skittish? Six years too late, Theo?”

She sank back against the tufted squab of the seating. “Thank you, and good evening.”

When she pulled at the door, he caught it. “Driver. To Tradenwood.”

“Yes, sir.”

She heard the words and almost released a sigh of joy, but then, Ewan barged inside. The door banged shut and he sat next to her. “I’m going to see you home, like a good cousin.”

It was too dark to be alone with him. She bent and lit the carriage lamp on the floor. The light made things worse. It let her see how strong and virile he looked and how near he sat, with lips that were in want of a kiss.

She pushed at her temples hoping to free them of ridiculous ideas. “Get my driver to let you out then go away, cousin ghost. I’m in no mood for your haunting. The storm has upset me enough.”

“I don’t think you should be alone, and we are headed in the same direction. It’s best to be at your side. Just a pleasant ride for Theo and her ghost.”

The slow-moving cabin felt hot, and sitting so close to Ewan made her skin warm with anger. She dropped her hood to her shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to cool down, not with molten temptation a hug away.

The last thing she needed was to become faint because of him staring at her. She drew her arms about her as if to add another layer of protection. “I didn’t ask you to accompany me into my carriage, only to take me to it. You’ve completed this promise. Don’t you have a flat in Town? Some other relative to bother?”

“It’s less than two hours to Tradenwood which is practically next door to Grandbole. You can abide two hours, no? Much shorter than a month.”

She stared at him and hoped her face didn’t show how unfair that was, but it was better he thought her disloyal than know the truth. No, the truth remained hidden, buried with Mathew.

He took off his hat and sidled to the other side of the bench.

Thunder growled and he smiled a little. “Let me be helpful. This storm still has plenty of strength.”

Trapped with him in a storm for two hours. Her fear would addle her. What if she accidentally admitted to things? The delicate balance she shared with her ghost would be eroded even more.

Her mind went to the embrace on the stairs and the one in the fields. Each felt more natural, reminding her of the stolen embraces of six years ago.

“So Theo, do we share? Or do we argue all the way to Tradenwood and share by default?”

Ewan, the Fitzwilliams—they were against her. She pushed at her brow. “Enemies don’t share. You came into town some way. You can most certainly return to Grandbole the same way. I’m stopping this.”

She reached up to tap the roof, but he caught her hand. He’d removed his gloves and pulled off one of hers. Bare hand to naked finger, he stroked her wrist, forced her to feel his lively pulse. It was too strong, too fast, like hers.

“You can’t be here,” she whispered.

He kept her hand and moved nearer. The dim light danced upon the angles and planes of his lean face. The set in his jaw tightened. Self-possessed. Strong. A determined Ewan was a dangerous thing. And unfortunately, it was catnip to Theodosia, making her voice purr his name. “Ew-wan, let go of me.”

Why did she have to sound stupid—breathless and stupid? She pushed away.

That disarming smile that had made him so handsome six years ago grew. “Methinks, you are afraid of ghosts, too. Do you fear me or the truth, as much as you fear thunderstorms?”

Yes, to both. But the words never left her tongue.

He claimed her hand again and put his mouth to her wrist.

In a blink, he slid off her other glove, then kissed each naked fingertip. The motion soft, tender—bad, determined ghost. “I need to tell you something, Theo. My play will be produced.”

His eyes radiated joy. Part of her was happy. He was living his dream. The other part, the sane side, boiled. She snatched her palm away from his coercion, his seduction. “Good for you. Slander looks good on you.”

He took her by the shoulders, forcing her reflection to swim in his eyes. “I’m taking your name out.”

She’d been holding her breath when he touched her, and when his words started to make sense she gasped. “What?”

Nodding, he stroked her palm. “It wasn’t right to threaten you like that.”

The anxiety of what the play would mean to her reputation eased. Her chances at the Court of Chancery for Philip’s guardianship improved. A sigh fled. But this was Ewan Fitzwilliam, and her heart tamped down to a near normal rhythm. “You’re being kind to me? In exchange for what?”

The clap of thunder made her shiver, almost as much as when his finger slid under her cape to her shoulders. “I have you, Theo. I’m not ready to let go.”

Trying to wriggle away made it worse. Her cape slipped, allowing his hands to be free. The heat of his palms wilted her cap sleeves. It was as if he stroked her skin.

“I still need my family protected, but that has to be done without hurting you. I don’t want to be one of those people in your life who push you to do things. I’d rather be someone who you can turn to.”

“And this is why you’re in my carriage? With your hands on me?”

The pressure of his palms disappeared, but he never let go of her gaze. “Was your skin always so soft? I don’t remember.”

“Leave.”

“When you turned to me earlier…it reminded me of something I’d missed. Our friendship. I sold my play, Theo, and there was no one to share it with, no one who truly understood the meaning. No one else has ever heard my dreams and encouraged me, and I have no one to take care of, no one to make sure she didn’t work so hard that her ride and her burdens were easier.”

Those big eyes of his, which looked even larger and more soul penetrating than ever, made her nod, made her remember, too. “I’m happy for you. You can stay until we reach the fields. Then out you go.”

His arm moved to her back and slowly drew her closer, inches from his chest. “That’s a poor congratulation. Can’t think of a better way?”

“It’s all I have for you or anyone.”

His gaze lowered. “I know you are in trouble. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll talk nonsense and make you laugh, like before.”

He used to tell her nonsense about plays and Greek theater things. His face had been full of vigor…and love. Like now.

She gulped and looked away. The seam on her cape became safer and more fascinating.

Thunder shook. She shook. “We’ll be getting to St. Martins Lane soon.”

That arm of his tightened about her. As much as she didn’t want to, she found herself pressed against his chest. The memories started. The laughs, the dancing, the joy of how special it felt to be near him returned. “We’ll be getting to St. Martins Lane soon.”

“You said already that, Theo.”

Hating her weakness, she focused on the loud thud of his heart. His alive heart.

“Why do you hate thunderstorms?” He made his tone low and dipped his chin onto her forehead. “You know everything about me. But I know so little about you.”

Fearing too much would be said, she tried to push on his chest to put distance between them, but her thumbs tangled in his cravat, skirting over his thin shirt, scraping his scars, deep and long scars. She froze, thinking of him suffering, almost dying, all while knowing her choice to keep living.

But no one would’ve suffered if he hadn’t left her. Growing too warm, too hot with memories, and those R things, she moved his arm and sat back against the seat. “You know enough. Can’t give you another thing to use to coerce me or blacken my name. That’s the Fitzwilliam way. Is Fitzwilliam Greek, meaning to crush Theodosia?”

“Were you always this funny?” His lips pushed together for a moment. “Here’s something that you won’t hear a Fitzwilliam say and mean it. I’m sorry, Theo. I was so angry at you for not mourning, I wanted you to pay, but I was the shrew. I thought nothing but the worst of you. I raged and wrote. But I forgot how young we were and how easy it was to let fear affect us. You’ve been in my thoughts—some of them have been focused on revenge, some quiet like now, remembering what we had. I never once forgot you. Look at me. See the truth.”

She didn’t want to look up. It was too easy to become lost in those eyes. She shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”

“If I can admit regrets, can’t you?”

No. She couldn’t. To do that would steal Mathew’s legacy, the man who had saved her, who had given her so much.

“I have regrets, Theo. Deep ones.”

Rs. He had them? Couldn’t he see the turmoil churning in her stomach? Against her will, her face craned up to his. She put a shaky finger to his lips. “No. No more of this or you can leap out and find your own way to Grandbole.”

His mouth opened. With his teeth, he raked her finger, shooting lightning down her skin. “I’ll be brave and say it. I regret you thought me dead. I regret that my absence made you vulnerable and made you prey for others. I regret you weren’t awaiting my return.”

He leaned closer to her face. She could feel his breath, warm, sweet-smelling like sagebrush. The heat of it fell upon her cheekbone. “Don’t you wish things had been different?”

That stupid part of her heart took over. She let her ghost, the man who symbolized the first kindness she had ever known, the first love of her heart, brush his lips against hers.

He took her face within his palms. “Well, I wish things were different, even if you can’t admit it. I’ll be transparent. I suppose that’s what ghosts are good for. See through my misgivings. Know I’ve missed you, Theo.”

His eyes had surely put her into a trance, for her palms were too weak to plant upon his chest to stop another advance. He angled her face then branded her mouth with his fire. He stole her peace, her sense, her air, as he took a second and then a third deep kiss.

Panicked and panting, she fell into his chest and let years of tears puddle in her eyes. She had loved Ewan, more than herself.

Ewan mopped her sobs with his thumbs. “Do you remember loving me? I remember.”

He gave her no chance to respond to his whisper. His passion began again as his hands became more urgent.

She remembered his love and measuring everything against it. If she fell for Ewan again, there would be no Mathew to catch her. “No.”

Her voice sounded small and weak and stupid. Why had she let Ewan into her carriage? Why had she given him room to tempt her?

His pinkie tugged a lock of her hair. “Is no what you want?”

Swatting at her stinging eyes, she sat up straight. “No. I—I can’t do this. I’m a proper widow. I won’t sit in the dark clinging to the past.”

His head tilted toward her. The inches of separation she’d recovered disappeared. “Then cling to a future. I’m here, and I’m not scary.” He took her mouth, tasting that raw lip that she’d nearly chewed off. “Trust me, Theo.” The whisper was cool upon her jaw. Then nothing separated his kiss from hers.

With her resolve crumbling like a fallen flower vase, she bloomed, opening for him. She let him kiss her for yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

His hands went under her cloak tracing the lace of her tucker, sizing and squeezing, taking inventory of her shape, testing her lack of resistance.

He’d always been a good shut-up-I-can’t-think kisser, but this was wrong and thoughtless. Anger at herself began to boil in her gut. Her desire waned. Reason, the better R word, came into her head, and she caught one of his hands.

That stopped one, but not the other. It took over, smoothing and tickling that patch behind her shoulders or that spot along a rib that made her sigh.

His fingers tugged at a ribbon holding her sleeves.

She broke from his kiss, shoved at his hands. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Exactly what you think. We are starting over, or where we left off. Father’s not standing in the way this time. You only have to sign the leases to finish the peace.”

He’d used her weakness to coerce her? “No, you bounder!” She drew up her cloak, hating how breathless and alive she sounded. “Seduction with Daddy’s blessing? That’s a new trick.”

He undid his now-mangled cravat. “Theo, we’ve been apart six years, but I know you. I know you to be a headstrong beauty who’d rather chew nails than admit to faults or regrets. But I know desire even better. Etched in my brainbox is the way your eyes burn when you want more of me. You haven’t changed. You need me. Does that scare you as much as thunder?”

“Yes.”

Shrugging, he set his open palms on the seat. “Theo, I know my father did something that made you scared. You were left vulnerable, which went against everything he said he’d do while I served. I know you well enough to know that somehow Mathew Cecil came upon you in your time of need and took care of you, ingratiated himself upon you. If you weren’t in trouble, my beautiful strong Theo would’ve never been snared by an old man.”

“What? Who told you this? Your mother?”

His brow squinted then smoothed. “No one had to tell me. I figured it out. Tell me I’m wrong. Then tell me you don’t desire me.”

“This is what you figured out and now this story makes everything that has happened matter less.”

Ewan nodded, and her insides erupted in raw, hot venom.

She forced her voice to a purr. “You want to know desire, tell the driver to go to Beaufort Wharf.”

His eyes widened and crinkled as a smile exploded onto his face. He knocked on the roof, stopping the carriage. He stepped out and then returned like a flash of lightning. Soon they were moving.

Ewan held her hand, drew her fully into his embrace. “We’re both too stubborn, but I will say it again, I have missed you, Theo.”

She didn’t respond, and kept his hands locked upon hers where she could see them.

When she peeked out and saw the familiar buildings near the banks of the Thames, she climbed up onto the seat. Her knees sucked into the tufts of the squab and she tried to look happy and wild, while not losing her balance. “You are right. Why fight this feeling bubbling between us? Let me show you my desire.”

She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him soundly, pretending that nothing mattered but emotions.

His fingers were in her hair, knocking pins, forcing her chignon down her back. “This hair. Silky and strong. The slight curl, not delicate. I still dream of it, of you and me.”

Righting herself on the seat, she pulled up her cape, restoring her hood. “Let’s continue inside. Help me down.”

He jumped to wet ground, his low boots kicking up a splash. “Yes, I want to see you in the light, Theo, how time has sculpted you to perfection.”

When he turned and reached for her hand, she held onto the door. “Go inside to Adams Four, to room four.”

He looked about. His face became more painted with questions. “A dark road? Dingy docks? Theo, not here. My flat is nicer. You and I—”

“Go in. Look for the crawlspace behind the curtains. It should still be there.”

“Theo, I don’t understand.”

Scooping up his hat, she tossed it at him. “You wanted to know why I’m afraid of thunder. Because the sound is so much louder if you have to hide in a tight coal scuttle, as you wait for your mother, the harlot, to finish with the man who bought her for two bits.”

He jammed on his hat, his face clouding in the shallow light of the moon. “I’m so sorry, Theo. I didn’t know. We don’t…. Let me get you home.” He tried to climb back in, but she put up a hand in protest.

“Don’t come back in here or come anywhere near me. You have your play. You’re a handsome man. A Fitzwilliam. You shouldn’t have any problems finding a bedmate.”

“Theo. I shouldn’t have—”

“Go on with your life, Ewan. That’s what I’ve done.”

“What if that life should have you in it?”

“No more lies or twisted truths. You made me a harlot once, by bedding me, then no next-day wedding. You changed our plans.”

“But you agreed. You said it was the right course, given my father’s offer.”

“What choice did I have?” She wiped at her face, but held fast to her resolve. This mixed-up passion for a man who could never be all she needed, ended now. “Tonight, I changed your plans. Pity your only consequence is finding a street hackney for a ride. And hear this from me. I chose Mathew Cecil. He didn’t trick me. I decided to become his mistress. I came to him. I lay at his feet. And I offered him whatever he wanted.”

Ewan’s mouth dropped open. He wrenched at his neck as if that would make her statement of wantonness easier for his pride. “So you went after him?”

“Yes. I am everything that you wrote in your play.”

“No. That’s not true.” He put his large hands on the door and pried it open. “Let me come back in. We can discuss this.”

“Why? So, you can have another go at me? I don’t want to be in your next play. My regret…is you. You said we were running away to marry, but the storm happened. And we had to wait it out in the carriage house. I was so in lo…dazzled by you. I believed you, I gave into feelings I didn’t understand. Then your father caught us, and you told me to wait for you. Can’t you hear your mother’s laughter? You truly thought a harlot, the daughter of harlots, would wait for you? You are as big a fool as I am.”

“Theo, that wasn’t what it was. We weren’t like that. Theo?”

She waved her hands wildly, pushed away his fingers, then slammed the door again.

He pried it open an inch, but she clung to the handle. “Please.”

She wasn’t letting him back inside. Angry tears flooded her throat, but she swallowed the itching fire. He needed to hear her, and she needed to be released from the second biggest regret of her life. “I’m no longer like my mother. I’m not going to be bedded like one ’cause of a storm and nice-sounding lies, you manipulative man. I’m an honorable woman because of Mathew Cecil. He married his mistress and gave me a true name. Go on with your life, change all the names in your play back to Theo the Flower Seller, for that girl doesn’t exist.”

“You’re hysterical.” His voice fell softer. Maybe he could feel the anger she’d hidden in her bones for him not standing up for their love.

“I have regrets, too Theo. Even if you can’t or won’t admit to them, I will. Let’s talk. Let…”

Regrets? Is that what he called leaving her unprotected to a family that would have her starve to make sure no black blood mixed in their bloodline? “No more R words about what we had, Ewan. That love vanished into thin air. It’s a ghost to me.” Theodosia tapped the roof and the carriage started moving. The door whipped shut, barely missing his fingers. He didn’t hold on. Maybe her words made him not try.

She sank into her seat. Blanketing her cape tightly about her shoulders, she waited for her heart to stop pounding, for her lips to stop vibrating from Ewan.

Hopefully, he hated her enough now that he’d release her from his hauntings and his heart. For a determined ghost would destroy the only thing she valued: the honorable name of her son.