Page 78 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Gad! She was innocent. Yet her calm was preferable to the shocked, blushing outrage he’d feared.

“You would if you were a twenty-year-old man. I spent an inordinate amount of time and energy in pursuit of that particular delight. I was not about to pass up a tryst that was handed to me.”

She scowled. “So you blame her?”

“No. I blame us both equally.”

“You knew it was wrong, but did it anyway. That speaks poorly to your character.”

“It does. But—”

“You were willing to throw away your reputation, your relationships with your friends and family, all for…” Now, she blushed.

“Not willingly. Unwittingly. But yes.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you’ve changed? When you’re stealing kisses from me and—and touching me under the dinner table?” She shifted farther from him on the bench, so not even her skirts brushed his thigh. “All while ostensibly courting Lady Elizabeth? And trying to help your sister? She needs your respectability now. How am I to believe you when you’re still willing to throw it all away—”

“Because this time it’s for love!” The words surprised him, coming to him from the blue and slipping out of his mouth before he’d had time to reflect. He meant them, but he wished he’d presented them better, later, a declaration rather than a defense.

She stared at him, lips slightly parted, lovely brown eyes wide. Rather than blushing more deeply, she seemed to grow pale. “I’m not convinced you know the difference. You had best take me back to Lynch’s. And don’t call on me again until you are free of any obligation to Lady Elizabeth.”

Don’t call on me until was better than don’t call on me. He pinned his fading hopes on that.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Trentham had said he loved her. At least, that’s what Ophelia thought he’d said, before she’d stopped him from saying more. Leaving him in his carriage, she started up the stairs to Lynch and Dessie’s front entrance, her mind in a whirl. He loved her.

It was past time for her to admit, at least to herself, that she didn’t just “care for him a little”—she loved him, too.

Oh, but how could she? The man was awful. He had no excuse, none, for sleeping with Fanny except that he’d wanted to. He was no sacrificial lamb. Redemption, he’d called it. He meant to rescue himself, not Lady Elizabeth. And now, he claimed he intended to pay his addresses to her, when all of London knew he was trying to woo the marquess’ daughter.

The Barringtons would hate her. And by extension, Dessie. And that wouldn’t do Lynch any good.

She didn’t bother to use the knocker, but simply opened the door and went in. She shut it, leaned against it, and sighed. He wasn’t awful. He’d made a terrible mistake a decade ago and was still paying for it. Trying to scramble out of a hole while digging it deeper.

On the other hand, he might be worse than awful, because an adulterous affair might not be the wickedest thing that he’d done. Did killing an opponent in a duel count as self-defense? That was the question she should have asked. Not “was she beautiful?” But rather, “is he dead?”

Before Ophelia gathered her wits, Dessie came hurrying from the parlor.

“You’re back!” she cried, her face lit with excitement and pleasure. “That was quick!”

Ophelia tried not to grimace, anticipating her grilling. “Yes, I am.” She gestured back toward the door. “Trentham couldn’t stay.” Should she mention the ride? The pretty park? The sunshine? No, superficial blather wouldn’t do. “You see—”

“We’ve had a telegram from Daddy. He’s in Paris with Aunt Grace and he’s bringing her here!” Dessie grabbed Ophelia’s hand, danced a step, then raised Ophelia’s arm to twirl beneath it. “They’ll arrive Friday night.”

Ophelia stared. He wasn’t supposed to come abroad for another month. And to go to Paris first? How long was he there? And why hadn’t they known? “Friday? In three days?”

“Isn’t it wonderful!” Dessie shook Ophelia’s arm as if to wake her. “We’ll have so much fun. Think how excited he’ll be when we introduce him to Lynch’s friends. Dukes and earls and whatnot. Perhaps we’ll host a ball, do you think?”

“Dessie, you can’t throw a party. Not now. Think of Lady Townes!”

She dropped Ophelia’s arm. “It will show we’re not concerned. We can even invite Lady Townes.”

“Sir George won’t let her come.”

“Then we will invite Lord Hayworth!” Dessie laughed. “Ophelia, it will be grand. Society loves a party. And it will do well for us, for Trentham too, to be seen celebrating, not hiding our faces waiting for the wave of scandal to break over us. Lynch agrees with me. And you know Daddy will, too.”

True. Their father insisted upon tackling problems head-on. But Dessie wasn’t aware of the latest twist. Trentham was ready to drop poor Lady Elizabeth, who had all of society’s sympathy, and then turn around and woo an outsider, another American.