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Had he imagined everything that happened last night? It couldn’t have been his imagination because she’d been here, standing at the door. The anguish of her guilt stamped upon her face.
What had started as an attempt to comfort her ended with her sensual, long legs wrapped tightly around him as he rutted with her like an animal. God, she’d been a virgin and he’d taken her as if she was a common strumpet.
She must hate him for what he’d done.
Guilt slid its tentacles around his heart and mind, constricting tightly. It was John’s fault. John had led him to believe that it wouldn’t be her first time. Matthew covered his face with his hands and groaned.
John must have suspected Matthew’s feelings for Jennette. What better way to keep him away from her? Matthew should have known better than to believe his friend about Jennette’s virtue. Never had he heard a word about her being anything but an honorable lady.
She hadn’t even awakened him when she left in the middle of the night. If someone had seen her wandering the halls with her hair down and her dress disheveled, her reputation would be ruined.
Unless she’d been seen leaving his room, then he would save her with marriage. That might be for the best after all. If only that would absolve his guilt for his mistreatment of her last night. Or relieve his conscience for bedding the woman John had professed to love.
“This is a damnable mess,” he muttered.
Sitting up slowly, he looked at his valise and wondered if he should just quit the party and return to London. But doing so would keep him away from her. He should just compromise her publicly and be done with it. Selby would force a marriage and that would be the end.
Except it would only be the beginning of a lifetime of more remorse. Matthew swore softly. He was damned sick of all the guilt. He shouldn’t have told her how he felt five years ago. He shouldn’t have threatened to blackmail her into marriage when he knew he’d never be able to go through with it. He shouldn’t have kissed her in the billiard room at Lady Elizabeth’s house.
And he never should have seduced her last night.
But he had. His honor demanded that he marry her now regardless of the guilt, no matter her objections. He would stay and find someone to walk in on them as they kissed. It was a simple solution to a dreadful situation. Then he would spend the next forty years trying to gain her forgiveness.
And Matthew knew just the man to help him with his problem—Somerton. Somerton could convince someone with influence to accompany him to a room where Matthew and Jennette were kissing. The outrage would be enough for Selby to accept him as a brother-in-law without causing enough of a scandal for a duel.
With a plan in place, he quickly performed his morning ablutions, dressed, and readied himself for the gossips in the breakfast room. As he walked toward the door, hairpins crunched under his feet. Each pin he stepped on brought the guilt of his mistreatment of her back in full force. He’d be damned lucky if she ever spoke to him again, much less entered a room alone with him.
Pushing away the shame, he walked to the morning room determined not to let their petty talk bother him any longer. Several people looked up at him as he entered. Everyone glanced away from him and most appeared embarrassed.
“Glad to see you didn’t run off,” Somerton said from behind him.
Matthew turned his head and smirked. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Good man.”
“I need to speak with you in private.”
Somerton eyed the table. “Follow me.”
Matthew followed Somerton into the music room. After closing the door, he walked toward the pianoforte. Skimming his fingers up the keys, he rethought his plan. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe there was a better way to find a woman to marry him. But he didn’t want another woman. Last night proved the inevitable—he only wanted Jennette.
“Well?” Somerton said, impatience threading through his voice.
“I need your assistance in a private matter.”
“Who doesn’t?” Somerton muttered with a curse. “Let me guess, since Mr. and Mrs. Marston didn’t exactly give their blessings, you have decided to compromise the chit. There are far better women than Mary Marston.”
“Yes and no,” Matthew stalled.
Somerton shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I do want to compromise a woman…but not Miss Marston.”
Somerton’s lips slowly turned upward. He took a seat by the small fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then who?”
“Jennette.”
Her name hung in the overly quiet room. Matthew glanced over at Somerton, who appeared to be struggling to keep from laughing.
