“This is her doing,” Sebastian huffed. “She knows how important this is to me—what did she expect? No…” He groaned again. “I will not be made to feel guilty.”
“What will you do? I assume you will tell her?”
“And risk her ruining everything?” Sebastian cried. “That simply will not do. All I can do now is endure the falsity of this marriage until I get what I need from it. And once it is safe to do so, I will tell her the truth. Hopefully, by then, it will be too late, and she won’t be able to make my life a living hell.”
“Sounds like marriage to me,” Lord Ashford drawled, to which Sebastian laughed as if it were the funniest comment he had ever heard.
Helena stood frozen by the doorway, hidden so they did not see her, swaying back and forth so that she had to keep herself from collapsing. She stumbled back, fell into the wall, pushed herself up, then somehow managed to turn and trip down the hall and away from the drawing room.
The walls spun around her. Her body rebelled as if she had no control. She could hardly see straight. She could hardly think. The world itself crumbled around her such that she could not tell if she was dreaming or awake.
There is no way. There must be an explanation. Sebastian would never… He would not dare… This cannot be happening!
It was happening. And as Helena stumbled toward her room, the pieces of it all fell into place, so there could be no denying it.
She thought back to when they had first married, how effortlessly Sebastian had charmed her, how he had made her feel cared for and adored. She had known then that he was lying, but she had still been tricked into wondering if there was more to it than what she knew.
He was an expert liar and manipulator. He was a politician, born to subdue and disarm. And sensing a weakness in her, searching for a means to overcome that weakness, he had acted in a way that was as natural to him as breathing.
She reached her room and collapsed on the bed. She felt tears welling up, but held them back. And all the while, the truth crashed down on her such that she could hardly breathe.
And this truth, as much as it hurt to admit, was undeniable.
Sebastian did not care for her. He had never cared for her. It was all a lie, and Helena, as foolish and naive as she was, had fallen for it without question.
A marriage of convenience was what this had always been and always would be, and nothing would change that.
All that was left to do now was cry, which Helena got about doing promptly. At this stage, what else could she do?
CHAPTER 29
Helena was eating supper alone when Sebastian walked into the dining room. She glanced up, saw him walking down the length of the table, and went back to her plate.
“There you are.” He wore a warm smile. “I was looking for you.”
“You found me,” she said simply.
“I sent for you earlier.” He came to within a few feet of her and stopped. She braced herself, expecting him to lean down and kiss her on the cheek, perhaps even pull out a chair to join her. “Did you not receive my summons?”
“Oh, I am afraid not.” She dared a glance at him, noting the way he was still smiling, and went back to her food. “Nothing important, I hope.”
“Not really,” he said. “Lord Ashford was here and wished to see you.”
“I had no idea.”
“No matter, he has gone home now. And he sends his regards.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
She held her fork and knife in her hands, using them to cut through the shank of lamb on her plate, purposefully avoiding his gaze. But she could feel it on her, studying her as she ate, likely curious as to why she was being so cold toward him.
He should be relieved. Thrilled that he does not need to pretend. That I am not such a tremendous inconvenience to him and the lifestyle he holds so dear.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“No,” she uttered as she cut off a piece of meat and took a bite. “Should there be?”
“Not at all,” he replied.
