Page 28 of Sinfully Daring

“I know, Hargreaves,” Bedwin said, his distaste for the subject audible. “A worse man would do just that, which is why she isn’t married to such a one. You are decent and honourable, and now she can manipulate you with those very qualities.”

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Sebastian admitted, a little astonished that he was confessing such a thing to Rosamund’s father of all people, yet the duke was one of the few men who could truly understand. “Like I might do something I’ll regret if she keeps pushing me.”

“I know,” Bedwin said darkly. “I remember the feeling of impotent fury all too clearly, but I promise you, there are worse things than living with such a woman.”

Sebastian put his head in his hands. “I keep remembering when we first met and wanting to shake myself for my stupidity. I was so utterly dazzled by Adelia, by her beauty and wit, her sharp mind, that I did not look beneath the surface. My arrogance and lack of experience made me take her at face value. I assumed she loved me as madly as I did her, because why wouldn’t she? God, what a lackwit,” he said in disgust.

Glancing up, he saw understanding in the duke’s eyes, and something that might have been pity. What remained of his pride squirmed uncomfortably.

“She’s not actually unfaithful to me, you know. At least, not after that one time, which I told her I forgave her for. So even if I wished to divorce her, I would have to lie to prove adultery. It would be easy enough to do, of course, but I don’t think I could live with that. I know now that Adelia is in love with the idea of love, but she does not really understand what it is. For her it’s a beautiful painting, with everything perfection, a moment frozen in time. But as soon as it becomes messy and real and human, as all real emotions are, she runs away. I’ve tried to talk to her, to understand why. I’ve asked her to explain it to me so many times, but I’ve come to wonder if she even knows herself. Perhaps she is afraid. Too afraid for my reassurances to give her courage enough to face it, anyway. I think she is lonely, but she does not know how to stop it, and that makes her angry and jealous, and she lashes out at me if she thinks I am not lonely too.”

“Damnation, Hargreaves,” Bedwin said, and this time Sebastian definitely heard the pity in his voice and that was far worse than his anger.

Sebastian shrugged, returning a crooked smile, for what else could he do? Weep?

“I certainly feel damned. Damned to live with my mistake. Until the day one of us dies,” he mused, softly. He shook his head. “Well, I’ve said my piece, and for what it’s worth, I am more desperately sorry than you know. I will do whatever I must to protect Lady Rosamund though. You have my word upon that, Bedwin.”

“See that you do,” Bedwin said, his expression implacable. “Because I have every sympathy for you, Hargreaves, and I know you are a decent man, but if you or your wife harm my daughter’s reputation, you will answer for the consequences.”

Sebastian nodded, having expected nothing other than that. “I know, your grace, and I understand.”

He rose and bowed, then left the room, leaving the duke staring thoughtfully out of the window at the darkness beyond. Sebastian’s footsteps rang out as he walked across the elegant marble floor that led back to the grand entrance to Beverwyck, and he was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear the soft exclamation.

“Lord Hargreaves?”

He turned abruptly, jolting in shock as he saw Rosamund, dressed in her nightclothes, a glass of milk in hand.

“My lady,” he said, uncertain of what he ought to do.

“Whatever are you doing here?” she asked him, moving closer. “Is anything amiss?”

The subtle scent of vanilla reached him, and Sebastian wondered if it clung to her from the kitchens, or if it was something she used on her hair or skin. Abruptly, he shook himself with a stern reminder of where he was and why. Bloody imbecile.

“I—” he began, racking his brain for some excuse before realising it was pointless. He had asked the duke to warn his daughter, after all. “My wife believes….”

Hesitating, he wondered how to put it.

“She believes there is more than friendship between us,” Rosamund said calmly.

He shrugged. “I’m uncertain she truly believes that, but she knows I admire you, that I am… fond of you. That is enough. She will do you harm, my lady. You must be on your guard.”

Rosamund nodded, her expression full of sorrow. “I feared that might be the case. I will be careful, my lord. I promise you.”

Sebastian nodded, utterly wretched. “Please do. I should never forgive myself if—”

She shook her head, her expression fierce as she spoke, interrupting his heartfelt words. “This is not your doing, Lord Hargreaves. Not your fault. I shall never blame you or regret our friendship.”

She reached out, laying a hand on his arm and her gentle touch struck him with the force of a lightning bolt. He sucked in a breath, shaken, and withdrew his arm, taking a step back. He stared at Rosamund, committing the sight of her to memory, knowing this was all he could ever have.

“I cannot be your friend any longer, and that pains me more than you will ever know,” he said, his heart aching at the sadness in her eyes. For the thousandth time, he cursed himself for rushing into marriage with a woman he did not really know or understand. How different his life might be if… But there were no if’s or buts. He was married. It had been the worst mistake of his life, but he must live with the results.

“I do know, my lord, for I have the same weight of regret,” she said softly.

Sebastian steeled himself to bid her farewell, knowing he would never speak to her again.

“Goodnight, Lady Rosamund. I shall miss our talks. I wish you every success in finding a husband worthy of you, though I am not sure such a man can exist,” he added with a wry smile. “He will be the luckiest of men.”

With that, he gave a low bow, and turned from her, walking away from Lady Rosamund for good