Scared to death at what would assuredly happen next, Rhoda reached inside of the closet and dragged Emily out. She refused to meet Carlisle’s gaze. She couldn’t. How could he?
Chaos had erupted in the foyer, everyone arriving to see what all the outbursts were about.
She couldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t know why she even felt like doing so.
Lost in her own vortex of despair, Rhoda just barely listened as her mother chastised the couple and then addressed Prescott.
“Your Grace, I expect you’ll have a word with the earl. This is quite unacceptable! Something must be done to remedy this! Otherwise, it will reflect upon all of my girls!”
Rhoda could not remain to listen to her mother’s complaints. Instead, she dragged Emily upstairs to her chamber. The poor girl hardly needed to be dragged.
She’d gone rather pale herself.
Rhoda’s mother was going to insist Carlisle make an offer.
Emily had landed herself a husband after all! Lord Carlisle! Rhoda couldn’t erase the image of his arms around her dearest friend, his mouth on Emily’s.
On Emily’s mouth! Kissing her!
As they practically ran upstairs, Rhoda couldn’t help thinking she deserved this. She deserved all of this. Once inside Emily’s chamber, she covered her face with her hands and moaned. When she peeked between her fingers, she saw Emily looking quite confused.
Dear sweet Emily, who’d done nothing more than what she’d been instructed to do.
Rhoda shook her head. “I can’t believe you did it! I can’t believe he did it! I’d thought he wasn’t the type. Why are all men destined to turn out to be disappointments?” She dropped into a chair in resignation.
“He’ll make an offer, won’t he?” Emily’s expression went from confusion, to concern, and then accusation. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d told Lord Carlisle about your engagement to Blakely?”
Lord Carlisle had discussed her engagement to Blakely with Emily? Not that it mattered, but couldn’t anybody keep a secret anymore?
“He told you?” How dare he share something she’d told him in confidence! In her mind, she imagined Carlisle and Emily talking about Blakely’s plan to use her for revenge. Had he laughed over it? Had they decided together that it was the only way she could be redeemed? “Quite the little tête-à-tête the two of you shared.”
Oh, God! Rhoda was jealous!
Emily twisted up her lips into a grimace. “Lord Carlisle thought I was you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Likely excuse. “I’m at least six inches taller and—”
“I was standing on a box. And I’m wearing your perfume, remember?” Was it possible? “Rhoda, do you, are you—?”
“No!”
She couldn’t be. And besides, it was too late now! “I mean, he’s been a friend to me. But I… I’m not at all…” And then she realized how much courage Emily had shown. “You did it. You actually did it.”
“Well, you said you wouldn’t leave with Blakely until I did. Figured I’d best get it over with.” Oh, God! Blakely! She was going to have to marry Blakely now! She’d promised Emily! And truth be told… she didn’t have a choice.
A knock sounded at the door and, without waiting for an answer, Cecily stepped in.
She regarded them both with a murderous light behind her eyes. “You two deserve to be thrashed! Did you plan this together?” She glared in Rhoda’s direction. “I’ve no doubt this was your idea.”
She must think Rhoda had been hiding this scheme from her earlier. But she hadn’t!
Cecily turned to Emily. “But you cheated, I’d venture to guess, at the game. And now! Now there is a kind gentleman sitting in the duke’s study who’s going to be forced into offering for you. He’s going to sacrifice his freedom due to no fault of his own. What you’ve done is utterly reprehensible!” She paced back and forth, waving her hands in the air. “How could you? Both of you? How could you?”
Rhoda couldn’t allow Cecily to blame Emily for this. Rhoda had pushed her. If only she hadn’t made that blasted pact earlier this week. She’d only done in it an effort to spur Emily to make more efforts at flirting. “You don’t understand, Cecily.” Oh, what a mess she’d made. With everything. “And you never will.”
“Why don’t you explain it to me then?” Cecily sat down beside Emily. “You’ve been secretive for months now. We’re your friends, aren’t we? Tell us what’s wrong. I mean, besides the obvious. Besides the fact that St. John took advantage of you and then died. What else is bothering you?”
Rhoda didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell them everything! She couldn’t!
“None of us are perfect. You know this! I made a horrible decision when I married Flavion, but all of you stood beside me. And then I committed adultery. Adultery, Rhoda. Whether it fits the legal definition or not, I lay with a man who was not the man I’d married. What can you have possibly done that is any worse than that?” Cecily cried.
Rhoda couldn’t tell them. She just couldn’t. She squeezed her eyes together.
“Why are you blaming Rhoda?” Emily demanded.
Oh, Emily!
Now Emily and Cecily would be at odds with one another.
“She had nothing to do with it. I compromised Lord Carlisle. I am the person responsible for that poor dear man sitting with Prescott now. And I’m glad.” Emily jumped up and strode across the rug to wear Rhoda sat. “Now Rhoda is free to marry Blakely, without worrying about me. And she won’t have to worry about any stupid wagers, or insincere praise… or worse! Now, if both of you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”
Where could she possibly be going off to right now?
“What business?” Rhoda demanded.
“I’m to schedule your elopement.”
Oh, hell.
Justin could not believe his own stupidity and utter lack of self-restraint. He sat in Prescott’s study, stunned, berating himself in a thousand different ways for his behavior.
When she’d first stepped inside, he’d thought she was Miss Goodnight. He’d even said her name, hadn’t he? But then the scent of her perfume had made him think she was her friend.
He’d been keenly aware of Miss Mossant all day. In fact, he’d done nothing but think of her lately. Perhaps if he’d not been so besotted, he wouldn’t have accosted her friend.
He ought to have known.
But he’d… wanted it to be Miss Mossant. He’d wanted Miss Mossant to purposely find him, and then press herself against him, reach her arms up around his neck.
“Damn, Justin, I never thought I’d see the day.” Prescott sat on the corner of his desk.
Justin wondered if Dev would, in fact, read him the riot act for compromising a young woman under his protection or if this was merely a formality in order to placate the irate Mrs. Mossant.
Justin ran one hand through his hair. “I…” He shook his head, dumbfounded. Had Miss Goodnight initiated all of it? It was so completely beyond her character. He must be at fault! The lust he’d experienced lately had obviously gotten the better of him. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he finally answered.
“You’ll offer for her, of course.” Dev sounded a trifle more dukeish than he had a moment ago.
But, of course, he would. He had no choice. But Miss Goodnight? How on earth? “Of course,” he responded.
“Although, knowing Miss Goodnight, it’s quite possible she’ll decline. She’s an odd sort. I’ll admit, I’ve never really understood some of Sophia’s friends.”
If Miss Goodnight declined, Justin would simply have to convince her. He could not allow a young woman’s reputation to be besmirched due to his own animalistic behavior.
But had she placed her arms on him first?
She would not have. The woman could barely meet his eyes on most occasions.
“It’s no matter. She won’t have a choice. I’ll go to her parents if necessary. By, God, Dev, who are her parents? And why do they unleash their daughter on the world in this manner?”
He had all due respect for women, for their intelligence, their wit, and even their strength, after seeing Miss Mossant handle Lord Kensington so handily, but the men in their lives had a responsibility to protect them. From themselves as well as the less reputable gentlemen circling in the ton.
Of which class, he apparently belonged. He’d compromised a woman less than one week after inheriting his title.
Justin rose wearily. “I’ll meet you here early tomorrow morning, then.” He’d seen this situation before, just never imagined himself playing this part. “In order to offer for her.”
He tried to picture himself going down on one knee in Dev’s study. Asking Miss Emily Goodnight to be his wife. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t shake Miss Mossant’s face from his imaginings. What a mess.
Dev simply nodded.
Without another word to his cousin, Justin exited to the foyer and wandered aimlessly until he located an outer door. He ought to pray. He ought to be begging forgiveness.
The moon shone brightly tonight, making the landscape appear brighter than the sconces did inside. Damn, but he out to have left for Carlisle House two days ago. He’d sensed trouble ahead but couldn’t bring himself to leave because of one woman.
Because of unbridled lust.
Feeling the need for solace, peace, he knew where he must go. He crossed the lawn and followed the dirt road along the forest. Less light shone through the trees, but he didn’t care. He knew this route like the back of his hand.
Luckily, he still had his key.
The chapel, which was built in a rectangular shape, had never been ornate. It dated back to the thirteenth century. There was only one entrance, but tall windows lined both sides, rising above the pews somewhat majestically. When Justin entered, he inhaled and the peace that had eluded him all day finally came.
He allowed the door to close behind him, shutting out the turmoil of the last week. He’d missed this. His time with God.
Moonbeams filtered into the building. He’d not need to light a flint. He strolled down the aisle toward the altar and then took a seat in the front pew. He’s spent many hours in this place, both as a child and later performing services. He’d been honored to marry the duke and duchess last winter.
Dropping to his knees, he bowed his head. He did not close his eyes though, choosing instead to watch the shadows cast by trees outside as they danced eerily on the stone floor.
He’d thought he was better than that, than this.
“Dear God, forgive me.” The words left him on an exhale. “Forgive me.” His God was the embodiment of grace. Justin had heard many a hell and brimstone sermon, but the New Testament spoke to him.
Would Miss Goodnight ever forgive him? And Miss Mossant? When he’d peered out of the dark closet, her eyes had stared in accusingly. She’d been confused. Shocked even.
Almost as shocked as he’d been to realize it was Miss Goodnight he’d been kissing and not Miss Rhododendron Mossant.
Fathomless coffee colored eyes brimmed with tears. He’d hurt her.
All during the course of a game. A parlor game. Good God, a child’s game. He tilted his head back as though the answers he sought could be read upon the ceiling of the chapel.
And then a breeze swept through.
Turning toward the entrance, he wondered if his eyes deceived him.
Surely not.
This time, he made no mistake.
The woman who’d taken up permanent residence in his thoughts had slipped inside and was kneeling in the back row. Her presence sent a buzzing through his limbs. The air itself came to life, charging the chapel with an energy it had lacked only moments before.
He froze. She’d not seen him. He swallowed hard and just as he would make himself known, a gut-wrenching moan echoed off the ancient stone.
“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to do it.” Her forehead dropped onto the pew in front of her and great sobs shook her shoulders. “But I can’t go on this way, God, I can’t.”