Page 20 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘And I love you.’ Evander wiped it away, his touch gentle. ‘I will be home before you can even miss me, to provide you with the life you deserve.’

But that wasn’t true. She missed him the moment he walked away from her on that familiar path that would remind her of him for ever.

And she didn’t stop missing him.

Indeed, the ache of his absence hurt more and more as time went on. Most especially when, mere days later, a carriage accident robbed her of her father and plunged her world into complete darkness.

And she missed Evander with an even greater poignancy when the new vicar moved into the only home she’d ever known and she had no choice but to carve from life whatever future she might forge for herself.

She never stopped missing him, even as time went on and hope faded into a dismal, useless thing.

Chapter Seven

May 1814, Comlongon Castle, Scotland

It was impossible for Lottie to be at Comlongon Castle and not think of Evander—especially when he’d spoken of it so often. Enough that she could see it perfectly in her head, as though she’d been there before herself.

Even if those cherished conversations had happened four years ago.

Many presumed Evander dead at this point, though he hadn’t been declared so legally. For her part, Lottie wavered between grief at the idea of him being gone for ever and pain that he was indeed alive but had long since forgotten her.

Be he lost at sea, or in some remote land she would never walk upon, his absence had been extraordinarily lengthy.

Especially when she had needed him most.

Seeing this castle was an agonising reminder of the man she had loved. Yet she put it all aside for Charles and his new bride Eleanor, now the Duke and Duchess of Somersville by their recent union. Lottie would not ruin such a joyful moment of celebration.

Except Evander wasn’t gone.

He stood before her now, as regal and handsome as he’d ever been. His hair was a little longer, the auburn streaked with gold, his face etched with lines she hadn’t seen before. The brilliant green eyes she’d always loved had lost their sparkle. But then, so too had hers.

Her thoughts splintered in a thousand directions in the room that was filled with fine heavy wood furnishings and stacks of boxes in every corner. A treasure amassed, no doubt.

Disappointment kicked her hard in the heart. He had left her for that treasure. Four long years and not one word. It was a betrayal of the worst kind. Her suffering had been at his expense, and he had been here in Scotland, living in his castle.

She couldn’t even think as her body moved of its own volition, marching past the new Duke and Duchess of Somersville to where he stood. He watched her the way someone might regard a ghost—with fascinated shock. Perhaps that was why he did not move as she reached out to slap him.

Her palm struck his face, the connection as loud and sharp as a gunshot in the stunned silence of the room.

Evander slowly raised his hand to his cheek where she’d hit him. It had been hard enough to redden his skin and leave her palm stinging.

‘Lottie,’ he said, his voice so familiar it dug into her chest like a butcher’s meat hook. ‘I’m so sorry...’

The woman she was before would have felt guilty for striking him. Rather, she never would have slapped him. But she wasn’t that woman any more.

‘You lied to me,’ she said harshly, unleashing all those years of pain. ‘You swore to come back for me and you never did. I waited—’ Her voice caught.

There was more to say. So, so much more. Except that her spirit gave out before she could continue.

Charles flew past her, his arm cocked back with intent. There was no time to stop him before his fist landed on Evander’s face.

Lottie cried out in surprise at this violent outburst.

Eleanor rushed forward and grabbed Charles’s jacket, drawing him back by the scruff as one might have a misbehaving pup. ‘Charles, explain yourself.’

He staggered back, his eyes burning with hatred. ‘He ruined Lottie, Eleanor. She was a vicar’s daughter—a woman with many prospects. Your brother seduced her and abandoned her.’

And there it was—the entirety of Lottie’s social demise laid out like soiled laundry on wash day for all to see and judge. Her eyes prickled with tears but she stiffened her back, steeling her resolve against the power of her emotions. After all, she had withstood far worse.