She swallowed, then said in a rush, “Lady Mansel came to see me today.”
He frowned at once. “She isn’t blaming you for her husband’s pursuit, is she?”
“Oh no, I don’t think she’s even aware of it. She came to warn me about you.”
“Sound advice. What in particular?”
“Apparently we have been seen together, and you are such a rake that I am in danger of ruin.”
She expected him to be angry or at least insulted, but he only shrugged. “She has a point. We should both be aware of it. That’s why it has to be said.”
“What has to be said?”
“That I would never hurt you in that way. Or in any other. But I have that reputation for a reason. I am a shocking hedonist and impulsive to boot.”
She didn’t want to think of the pleasures he’d pursued with other women, so she blurted. “You duel on impulse?”
He shrugged, looking out to sea again. “Pretty much. It’s my temper.”
“And then you won’t back down? Even when you’re in the wrong?”
“If I was in the wrong, I would delope.”
She knew that deloping meant firing in the air, by which means a duellist could apologise without leaving himself open to accusations of cowardice. “Have you ever done such a thing?”
“No.”
“Then you are always right? How many duels have you fought?”
“Too many. And yes, Iamusually in the right. But the right is trivial and not worth killing for.”
“But it’s worth dying for?”
“I’m not dead.”
She sat forward suddenly, leaning around, and caught the breath-taking bleakness in his eyes just before it vanished into a smile.
“Rejoice,” he said.
I do. God, I do. But that was the bigger mystery. Why didn’t he?
Chapter Seven
Durward spent the next few days constantly torn by extremes of opinion. Although the idea of marrying Carina would not go away, he had no right to offer her a disgraced name. He could not take her with him into the unknown rigours of exile. That would be criminal. And yet the notion of leaving without her opened a yawning black chasm. Worse yet, when he was gone, who would look after her? Especially if her father relapsed. Durward’s presence in her life could be doing her reputation no good whatsoever, so all he was doing was lessening her chances of marrying a good man who would care for her.
Whoever that man would turn out to be, Durward hated him.
Ifhemarried her, he made her a viscountess and could settle a comfortable sum on her. She would be able to reside at his London house, or his country seat, be a friend to Bethany, and a good influence on Duncan...
Fantasy and foolishness. He would be condemning her to a life of loneliness, without children or a proper marriage, dumping the burden of his responsibilities on her head. Which was what he had always done. He left Duncan to Bethany, his estates to stewards because it seemed sensible when he was clearly not destined for a long life. But practically speaking, this was evasion of his own responsibility, just like marrying Carina and abandoning her.
No, he should leave her now, while he was still no more than a moment’s gossip in her life. Before her liking, her friendship,could turn into anything deeper and hurt her. Already, she was less than immune. He had been around too many women not to know that she would have let him kiss her that day on their countryside walk. He heard her moments of breathlessness, gloried in her awareness of him as a man, even as he castigated himself for allowing things to get even that far. He had to tear himself away.
That was the bleak knowledge he woke to on the morning Calton’s letter finally reached him. The decision had stayed with him since the night before, so he knew in his heart it was the right one.
So when he went downstairs to take his breakfast, it seemed somehow inevitable that the innkeeper brought him Calton’s letter.
He nodded his thanks and stared at it. So, this was it. Foster was dead.
