Page 90 of A Winter Scandal

The implication of Rawdon’s words stung. “I am well aware of the quality of your friendship. Your loyalty,” Gabriel replied stiffly. “But I did not judge you without good reason.”

“Indeed?” The corner of Rawdon’s mouth lifted cynically. “Ah, yes, those rumors and innuendos regarding my bad behavior.”

“You are not one to accept an apology gracefully, are you?”

“I have little interest in grace. I am more enamored of honesty.”

“Honesty? You want honesty?” Gabriel stiffened, stalking toward Rawdon. “Very well then, yes, I had heard a great many rumors regarding your family. I paid no attention to them, for I knew you. Even when I heard rumors that you did not treat women as a gentleman should, I ignored them. Because I knew you. I trusted you as a man, as a friend; I trusted you so much I was willing to give my sister to you. I believed you would care for her, honor her, protect her. But when a woman runs away only weeks before her wedding, when she flees her home and family and the life she has always known because she cannot bear to marry a man considered by most to be one of the most eligible men in Britain, it becomes harder to ignore stories of that man’s mistreatment of women!”

“I have never mistreated a woman!” Rawdon roared, his eyes flashing and his hands doubling into fists, and he took a long stride forward.

Gabriel did not back away, but moved to meet him. “I might have believed that then—if you had reacted with the slightest anxiety or pain or even concern for that nineteen-year-old girl whom you professed to love. But when I came to you, when I asked you if you knew where she had gone or why she had left, you sat there, as cold as always, playing cards, without a care in the world. You shrugged—shrugged, as if Jocelyn was as unimportant as one of the fobs on your watch chain—and said you were not going to mourn because ‘some girl decided to cry off.’ And I realized then that I had been deceived in thinking you a friend. Or the man to whom I should entrust my sister.”

“You did not ask! You accused! You shouted at me that I had hurt Jocelyn, that I had driven her away. You demanded to know what had happened. What was I supposed to say? That she had ripped my heart from my chest and trampled on it?” Rawdon’s eyes were blazing blue, electric in his pale face.

“Your pride was hurt.” Gabriel’s lips curled. “The woman you said you loved was missing, and you did not bother to look because your pride had taken a fall.”

“Of course I searched for her. Are you mad? I sent men out in every direction I could think of—agents and grooms and Bow Street Runners, all looking for her.”

“But not you yourself.”

“No. Not me.” Rawdon’s stiff form sagged a little, his fists loosening at his sides. “Not at first. I thought, if she wants to throw me over, then I would bloody well let her go. I refused to beg a woman to marry me. Not even Jocelyn. Later …” Rawdon shrugged and turned away. “When I saw that she had run from you as well, when my agents could not find her, I … looked for her. I drove down every blasted road out of London. I went to Southampton, to Liverpool; I went to bloody Gretna Green.”

“You thought she had run away with someone.”

“I thought everything. I even sent inquiries to Paris and Rome. To Brussels.”

Gabriel looked at his former friend, half-turned away from him. Something about Rawdon’s powerful frame was forlorn. Gabriel hardened his jaw. “And what of Grace Fortner?”

“Who?” Rawdon glanced at him. A puzzled frown began to form on his brow.

“Grace Fortner. She was the daughter of a gentleman from Sussex, the cousin of Anne Buntwell, and she came out with Anne two years before Jocelyn made her debut. You fancied her for a while.”

“Oh.” The other man’s face cleared. “Yes. I remember her. A pretty girl. Why do you ask?”

“What happened to her?”

“Happened? I don’t know.” Rawdon paused, thinking. “She—wasn’t there some sort of scandal? She left London, didn’t she? I believe I heard she married some fellow in Sussex.” His gaze narrowed, the frown returning. “What does it matter?”

“A few days after you shrugged off Jocelyn’s leaving, I learned that she was not the first girl to flee London because of you. Grace Fortner had, as well. You loved her; you pursued her. You maneuvered her into being alone with you. And when she rejected your advances, you would not let her go. You struggled, and she was hurt. She fled home because of her fear.”

The other man simply looked at him for a long moment. “And you believed this?”

“She had no reason to lie. The story compromises her honor. She had every reason to keep it hidden, so the telling of it makes it hard to disbelieve.”

“You heard this from Miss Fortner herself?”

“No. But the person who told me had it from her. And I trust that person.”

“More than you ever trusted me, obviously.” Rawdon came closer. His voice was flat, his gaze direct and cold. “If you were any other man, I would call you out. But for the friendship I once held for you, I will tell you this: I admired Miss Fortner a bit; I danced with her a few times and called on her once or twice. I believe I might even have sent her a nosegay. I did not pursue her. I did not trap her in a compromising position. I did not offer her any harm. I have never in my life laid an angry hand on a woman. I have never hit a female nor have I forced one. Miss Fortner lied or your friend lied. I frankly don’t care which. But I will swear to you on my own sister’s life that I have never harmed a woman. The only woman I ever loved was Jocelyn, and God help me, the only wrong I did to her was to allow our engagement to go forward even though I knew she did not love me as I loved her.”

Gabriel stared into Rawdon’s eyes, and in them he saw a cold, hard truth. He knew, with an empty sensation deep in his gut, that he had been wrong, terribly wrong. How could he have taken the word of a stranger, no matter how convincing the circumstances, over that of his trusted friend?

“My God … Rawdon. I am sorry.” Even as he said them, he knew how terribly inadequate his words were. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out.

Rawdon shifted and half-turned away, his voice cool and remote. “It is all in the past.”

“Yes, but … I …”