“Nonsense.We have far too much to do.The wedding is in three weeks, and we haven't even settled on the menu.The cook needs to know—”
“I don't care about the menu.”
“You should care.Every detail reflects on you as a hostess.When you're a duchess, you'll be expected to—”
“I know what I'll be expected to do.”Thea's voice came out sharper than she intended.“You've made that abundantly clear.”
Lady Hasting's expression hardened.“There's no need to take that tone with me.”Wesley’s mother’s eyes widened watching the display.“I'm trying to help you.God knows you need it.”
“Damn and hell, Mama—”
She stopped.
The words hung in the air, and Thea felt the blood drain from her face.
She'd said it.Not in Kit's rough voice, but the phrase—the same phrase she always said when she won a hand and could speak as she pleased.
“Theodora!”Lady Hasting's scandalized tone raised as she glanced between Wesley and his mother.“You forget yourself.”
Thea couldn't look at Wesley.She couldn't breathe.She kept her eyes fixed on the guest list in front of them.
“My apologies, Mama.Her Grace.”She still didn’t look up at anyone.“I don't know what came over me.”
“I should think not.A lady does not use such coarse language.What must His Grace think?”
Thea forced herself to glance at Wes.He was watching her with an expression she couldn't read, as if he was putting something together in his head.The air in the room had changed.
“Lady Hasting.Mother.”His voice was controlled and almost cold.“Would you excuse us for a moment?I'd like to take a turn in the garden with my betrothed.The fresh air might make matters more pleasant.”
“Of course, of course.”Lady Hasting waved them away, already forgetting about them.“We have much to keep us occupied.”
Wesley rose and offered Thea his hand.She took it because she had no choice.Refusing would raise questions she couldn't answer.His grip was firm, and his face revealed nothing.
They walked out of the parlor and through the house in silence.Thea's heart was pounding so hard, she was certain he could hear it.She wanted to say something—to explain, to deflect, to find some way to undo her slip so she could prepare him for what needed to be revealed.
The garden was bright with afternoon sun.Wesley led her past the stone balustrade, down the steps, and along the same path they'd walked the night of the ball.The night she'd kissed him.The night everything had changed.
He stopped near the fountain, far enough from the house that no one would overhear.When he turned to face her, the warmth had drained from his eyes.
“Damn and hell.”His voice was flat.“That's a pretty pot.”
Thea's stomach dropped.
“Say it.”He stepped closer.“Look me in the eye and tell me you have no idea what I speak of.”
She couldn't speak.She couldn't move.She could only stand there, watching her world crumble around her.
“That’s what I thought.”Wesley's voice was quiet, controlled.Somehow that was worse than shouting.“I knew there was something familiar about Kit.But there is no Kit.It was you.”
“Wesley—”
“You've been sneaking out.At night.Alone without a chaperone.Dressed as a man.”His jaw tightened.“Into gaming hells full of drunk men who would have done God knows what if they'd discovered who you were.”
“No one ever—”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”His voice cracked, and she saw it—not just anger.Fear.“If someone had realized?If some man had decided to take what you were attempting to hide?You could have been—” He stopped, his hands clenched by his side.“Christ, Thea.You could have been killed.”
“I was careful.I've been doing this for over a year and nothing—”
