Page 12 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Twelve

W alpole sat alone in the drawing room of Hetty’s modest Marylebone home, the ticking of the clock on the mantel marking each minute with excruciating clarity. He had been waiting for fifteen minutes already, and he knew she expected him to come upstairs and join her.

But he had not come for pleasure.

He wasn’t here for coitus or comfort. He was here to settle things between them once and for all. Having found her in a compromising position at Greenwich he’d been curt and to the point the other night, perhaps even a little callous, and he could not stomach leaving her in that position.

Leaning back on the worn settee, he crossed one leg over the other and rubbed a hand across his jaw, the day’s stubble rasping against his palm.

He needed a shave. The itch of it irritated him—almost as much as his being here did.

He owed Hetty nothing, especially after her actions, but still he stayed and would end things better than perhaps she deserved.

His thoughts wondered to what happened between him and Lady Cordelia in the carriage.

That kiss. The realization that the woman he longed for, who occupied far too much of his mind these days was a vexing, sharp-tongued and strong-willed woman from Mayfair.

A debutante who had no idea of the power she held over him.

And yet—despite knowing his desire was shifting—there was still something deeper that troubled him.

What if, like so many men of his ilk, he married a woman he cared for—perhaps even loved—and only months later, found himself straying? Found himself in another drawing room, in another mistress’s bed, bored and cold and dissatisfied with his choice of wife?

His father had been of the kind. What was to say he would not also be?

No one need tell him that Lady Cordelia would expect fidelity. And rightly so. She would never tolerate being cast aside or made a fool of in the society in which they circulated.

And he was not certain he was the sort of man who could promise such loyalty. A gnawing fear settled in the pit of his gut that one day she would look at him with disappointment, betrayal wearing her down with each of his indiscretions.

He sighed, his chest tight with something akin to shame.

Hetty swept into the room wearing a crimson silk dressing gown, the neckline edged with lace, her dark hair swept up into soft curls. She crossed the room with a smile and perched beside him on the settee, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“You’re here,” she said, voice low and warm. “An unexpected surprise. I didn’t think I’d see you after our conversation at Greenwich.” She paused. “Allow me to explain…”

She smelled like violets and musk, comforting and familiar. “I didn’t come for what you think,” he stated, shifting a little away from her. “I have not changed my mind.”

Hetty’s smile faltered. “But I thought?—”

“We need to talk,” he continued quickly

She folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin. A sure sign she understood and was steeling herself for whatever he had to say. “I see.” She paused. “Go on, then.”

“After finding you at Greenwich you must comprehend that our agreement has come to an end. But I come here today because I did not wish for us to part as enemies. We have spent some time together and while I was angry and disappointed in your actions, I did not want to leave you in destitute.”

Her throat worked on a swallow, and she took several breaths before she spoke. “Does this have anything to do with that pretty young man that I saw you go after? If your interest does not lie with the female flesh, there are friends that I know…”

Christian laughed and held up a hand to stop her.

“I’m in no need of assistance and that pretty young man has been delt with and will no longer be a problem.

” As the words left his lips he knew them to be a lie.

Cordelia, not to mention his sister, seemed determined to be a pain in his ass.

“You are free to find another protector. Maybe the gentleman who’s already found favor with you. ”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “I did not think you would be so forgiving. I’m sorry for my actions.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You sought comfort elsewhere, and in truth, that is my fault. I know I have been distant of late.” More than distant, he’d barely set foot in this home for weeks.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because this is no longer what I want,” he admitted. Not that he could declare that a vexing debutante was making him question all of his life choices.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Hetty’s lower lip trembled, and she blinked rapidly, but to her credit, did not cry. Her pride, at least, was intact.

“What am I to do now?” she asked, quieter now. “Do I pack? Walk out? Just…vanish?”

“No,” he said at once. “The house is yours. I’ve already arranged it. My steward will deliver the deeds. I’ve left you a sum large enough to see you comfortable for quite some time. You’ll want for nothing, and you’ll have the freedom to decide what you wish for yourself.”

Her posture softened and the fear in her eyes eased. “That is very…generous of you, Your Grace.”

“It’s only right.”

She looked down at her lap, then back at him. “And I’ll not see you again?”

“No.” There it was. The finality of it. “I’m at a crossroads, Hetty. I need to choose a path, and I cannot do that while I’m still tied to one.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “And I was the path you did not wish to walk?”

No she was not, but nor could he hurt her by saying such words. Even if she had been unfaithful, he knew her situation in life was precarious and he would not add to her injuries. “I did care for you, Hetty, but it’s time.”

Her eyes shimmered, but she nodded. “You were kind to me. More than most.”

Christian hoped that were the case.

Hetty stood, smoothing her dressing gown over her nightgown. “All will be well, Your Grace. Better, even, now that I have a home secured, that will keep me safe for years to come.”

“I’m happy for you, Hetty.” He stood and she escorted him to the door, before opening it. He paused at the threshold, leaning in to kiss her quickly on the cheek. “Good luck, Hetty.”

“And to you,” she returned.

Christian stepped out onto the quiet Marylebone Street, the door shutting behind him with a quiet snick that sounded a great deal like finality.

For the first time in years, Christian was free.

And yet, as he walked back to his waiting carriage, he didn’t feel liberated.

He felt hollow. And more aware than ever of the woman waiting in Mayfair who had turned his world inside out and who could soon steal what little freedoms he had left.