Page 39 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

T en days to win a marquess’s heart.

Hades’ Hell was just waking from its slumber.

The corridors buzzed with voices, laughter, and the sharp clack of boots and heels.

Melissande sat at her desk with her head in her hands while Theodosia handed her a list of names.

“These ladies are all here to see you. They want to check on the status of the wager, Meli. Do you want me to tell them the wager is off? You still have ten days, and we can just let the time lapse—”

“No.” Melissande shook her head. That didn’t feel right. She had an obligation to her patrons. “I should have announced upon my arrival from Calais that the wager is off. I will not hide or try to avoid it. I won’t be a coward. I shall face those ladies and tell them that I failed.”

She would tell them they were right: decent men—cold, stuffy, but decent—like Rivendale didn’t want her.

“And that should assuage your guilt for how you treated him?” Theo asked.

Melissande groaned. “I cannot deal with guilt from you, too, Theo. I have enough of it on my own.”

Theo raised her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to guilt you. I’m simply pointing out how you must feel.”

“Well, don’t.” Melissande stood. “Lead the women into one of the private chambers in the women’s wing. I shall greet them there and explain everything about the wager.”

Theo nodded. “Very well, they will be waiting just behind the main hall for your explanation.”

Melissande closed her eyes and took a deep breath—once, twice, three times.

It was time to face her fears and rejoin the world she had worked so hard to create.

Losing a wager wasn’t the worst setback she had faced in recent days.

She made her way downstairs through the male wing, which was still partly empty. The crowd only began to gather, and she was grateful for that. She was not prepared to exchange pleasantries or flirt with a room full of people.

As she approached Persephone’s heaven, she—

Froze.

Because in the middle of the room stood Rivendale.

Oddly, her first thought was who had dared admit him into the ladies’ wing? He was not supposed to be here.

Her second thought was, who cares! He’s here!

Then all other thoughts tumbled over each other, and she found herself standing still, frozen in the middle of Persephone’s heaven, surrounded by a few early guests and the hell workers, completely at a loss for words.

Rivendale.

Nathaniel .

He was here.

He stood before her, his cane clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes fixed on her.

“Nathaniel,” she whispered.

Murmurs swelled around them, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything else but him.

“I am sorry,” were his first words.

Melissande cleared her throat. “For what?”

“For becoming angry with you for being scared. For leaving without saying a word. For assuming things without talking to you.”

She still didn’t know what to say.

“I won’t presume to know what you’re feeling, but I hope that if you understand how I feel, it will help you make an informed decision about me.”

“H-how do you feel?”

“I love you,” he said simply.

The room gasped.

Melissande thought she was in the midst of a dream.

He hobbled toward her and pulled out a bloom of night-blooming cereus.

“This flower bloomed again last night,” he said.

“It reminded me of you. It’s beautiful, rare, and incredibly resilient, just like you.

But it blooms only at night, in secret, when it feels safest. And that’s how I felt with you. ”

He took her hand and placed the dried bloom into her palm. Its scent enveloped her, but she focused on the warmth of Nathaniel’s touch. She shivered.

“People are watching,” she whispered.

“I don’t care. Let them. I want everyone to know how I feel—that you are the most incredible woman I have ever met, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Melissande could only stare at his beloved face, her cheeks flushed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I fell for you the moment I saw you and kept falling with every new thing I learned about you: your relentless spirit, your wit, your resourcefulness, your adventurousness, your kindness, and open-mindedness. When I left Calais, I was angry, but only because you are so perfect that I couldn’t believe you would be interested in a man like me.

“I kept looking for a catch, waiting to uncover some trick behind it all because I couldn’t believe I deserved the happiness I felt with you. So, of course, when one thing went wrong—when I saw your reaction to the possibility of being with child—it instantly validated all my fears.

“It was the sign I was waiting for. So I ran, without giving you a chance to explain yourself, because it was easier for me to believe that I was right all along, that I am unlovable, that I am not worthy of a woman like you. If I confirmed this from the beginning, then it wouldn’t hurt me much later.

I was an idiot and even more foolish not to realize that it was already too late.

I was… I am in love with you. And I cannot imagine my life without you.

“I won’t ask you to marry me because I know that would take away a lot of your power. But I am willing—nay, eager—to marry you, if you’ll have me. And if not, I am ready to keep you any other way.”

Her lips parted. She stared at him, the flower trembling in her fingers, a breath caught in her throat.

“Nathaniel—”

A loud clap sounded from the corner of the room. Then applause spread throughout the entire space, followed by cheers.

Rivendale looked at her, a sincere smile on his face, hope filling his eyes.

Then laughter followed, voices chanting her name as Lady Harrington approached Melissande and clapped her shoulder with the familiarity of a friend. “You did it, Melissande!” she said. “You won the impossible wager.”

Rivendale’s face contorted in shock or fear or some other unfathomable emotion.

“The Marquess is hers!” Miss Vanderburt declared, waving the betting book aloft. “Theo, bring in the book.”

Melissande watched in horror as two other ladies tugged on Theo’s sleeve, who stood by the wall cradling the wagering book in her arms.

“Lady Harrington, you misunderstood,” Theo attempted to salvage the situation, but it was unsalvageable. The ladies swarmed Theo, snatching the book from her grasp, reading the wager aloud, counting Melissande’s winnings.

But she didn’t care about the chaos surrounding them; she only cared about the man standing frozen in front of her.

And looking into his deep, dark eyes… she felt broken.

Because she had just broken him.

* * *

Rivendale stood frozen in the center of a bizarre tableau. The cheers were loud, the laughter rang in his ears. He felt as if he were in a circus, except he was the main act.

A clown.

The room tilted. The cheers cut his ears like knives.

He had given her his heart, and all of London’s scandal-mongers were there to mock it.

But the worst part of all was not the laughter or the mocking words. It was the silence that came from the woman to whom he had bared his heart.

Melissande just stood there, her face flushed, for the first time in as long as he’d known her, speechless.

“Is that what it was?” he demanded, just to hear her deny it. Perhaps he misunderstood. “You did this for a wager?”

She closed her eyes, and he knew it to be the truth.

What an idiot he was.

Melissande finally murmured, wringing her hands. “That’s how it started, but—”

“That’s how it started? And how did it progress? When you spent the night in my room at the Pea Pod inn while you bought everyone else a room in a different inn, was that on purpose?”

“Yes, but—”

“What about the night you offered to knead my leg, the night when we first…” He choked on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

“My intention was to spend time with you, but I never lied about my feelings.”

He let out a strangled snort. “Lied? You never spoke to me about your feelings, except to tell me how being with me would ruin it all.”

He couldn’t believe it. Their first night together, their teasing conversation in the bath—it had all been calculated. She had picked the erotic book to read for the road, no doubt to seduce him.

It had all been a lie.

“Rivendale—”

And then it dawned on him… “And my locket? You knew where it was all along, didn’t you? The entire trip to Calais was just a facade for your sick wager, wasn’t it?”

“Nat—”

“Wasn’t it?” he growled.

She blinked and then slowly nodded. “It was.”

Rivendale turned away and walked toward the door.

“Nathaniel, please, let me explain,” she called after him, but there was nothing to explain. Everything had finally become very clear.

He paused at the door, his shoulders tense. “Imagine that, all this time, I believed I was beneath you.”

He shook his head and left.