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Chapter Twenty
It had been two days since Antony had promised to marry Hermione, and he was spending every waking hour of the days away from the house, all in the effort of avoiding her. The first day, he had spent solely at work, going around the tenants’ cottages and the nearby farms to check that all was in order. Even his steward had raised his eyebrows in surprise at the due care and number of hours Antony spent at work.
The second day, Antony was running out of things to do. He soon found himself at one of his old favorite haunts, a place he hadn’t been since Hermione had come into his life. He stood in the doorway of the gentleman’s club, even though it was the middle of the day, and looked around at the place.
Between the tables of cards being played and smoke that hovered in the air, ladies wandered to and fro, tilting their hips from side to side as they walked, clearly trying to catch different gentlemen’s attention.
“Your Grace, how good to see you again,” the proprietor said, coming forward to greet him.
“Thank you,” Antony said as he was shown to a table. He was placed at a table all by himself, and the proprietor brought him a glass of brandy. Antony sipped it slowly, finding himself gazing much more at the bottom of the glass rather than any of the ladies around him.
He had come in the hope that one such lady would be able to distract him from thoughts of Hermione. Every night since the ball, he had stayed awake at night, thinking of what they had shared on the rug in the library. He longed to have that moment back again, to go further than before, but that avenue was off limits now. He could never be with her or make love to her once she was his wife. He would be risking his heart too much.
“You look as though you need some cheering up, Your Grace,” a familiar voice said. Antony looked up from the glass to see the same young lady he had visited the last time he came to the club on the night that Hermione had arrived; the same one that had poured the drink in his lap.
The lady smiled, lighting up her exotic features and dark eyes as she slid his hand back across the table, giving her room to sit in his lap. As she sat down, she slid a palm up the center of his chest, across his waistcoat. His mind went back to when Hermione had pulled at his waistcoat. He should be attracted to those dark features, they were beautiful after all, yet he found himself longing to wind his fingers into blonde hair instead, and gaze at green eyes.
“Care to let me cheer you up?” the courtesan asked in a sultry voice. “I rather think I made you smile last time. I certainly think I could do so again.” He said nothing in reply, though he let her lean toward his ear and whisper in there. She began to whisper of all the things she could do with him to bring such a smile to his face.
Yet, every image she painted for him, he imagined himself with Hermione instead. He could picture Hermione completely bare in his bed, astride him and moving back and forth, her blonde hair wild as she brought them both pleasure. Then the image changed, and she was on her back on the bed with her head flung over the side. He was kissing her neck as he moved above her, in and out of her. As he kissed her neck, he was whispering words to her, their usual teasing comments, coupled with words of adoration.
Adoration?The thought struck him so sharply that he sat up and duly pushed the courtesan off his lap.
“Oh! Is something wrong, Your Grace?” she asked, so startled that she nearly fell over.
“Very wrong,” he said as he stood to his feet and pushed her, heading straight for the door. She pursued him all the way, calling for him to come back to her, but he couldn’t. For some reason, it felt like a betrayal to have come to the club at all.
“Your Grace, please do come back. I promise I can make all your concerns vanish. If you’d give me just a few minutes of your time,” she said with seduction, reaching out for his arm. He snapped his arm out of her reach, feeling as if he was tainted by her touch.
“Your Grace? What has happened?” the proprietor asked, meeting him at the door and trying to persuade him to stay. “Would you prefer for me to find another companion for you?”
“No!” Antony said hurriedly, shaking his head as he noticed the proprietor gesturing at the other ladies in the room. Antony’s gaze lingered on two of the fair-haired courtesans for a moment, but neither of them were Hermione. “No, I should not have come. If you would excuse me, I must go.” He heard them both still pleading with him as he left.
Outside the club, his carriage awaited him with his footman, but he walked past that too, all the way down to the beach at Lyme Regis. He strode far along it, until he found the greyish beach where people went fossil hunting. It was not as quiet as it had been when he and Hermione had gone there hunting, but it would do.
He hurried across the beach, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and moving so quickly that he nearly fell over the rocks in his haste. Once he found the large rock where he had sat before with Hermione at his side, he took his seat and began to smash rocks leisurely nearby, hunting out fossils. He could all too easily imagine Hermione was with him, doing the same thing, probably teasing him that he wouldn’t find anything as good as what she had found the last time they were there.
As he broke rocks apart, something caught his eye nearby, something glinting between the stones in the sunlight. He stood to his feet and moved toward it, bending down to find something familiar nestled between the rocks. It was the locket that Hermione had bid him to throw into the ocean the last time they were there. High tide must have washed it up onto the shore.
Plagued with curiosity, he opened up the locket, desperate to see what was inside. Yet the sea water had spoiled it. What could have been a miniature portrait before was now just murky colors sloshed together. Still, seeing it made Antony ache.
Did a suitor give this once to her?Then he cursed himself, angered that the thought bothered him so much.
* * *
“How is it?” Hermione asked, feeling how morose her tone was as she stepped out from behind the curtain in the modiste. Phoebe smiled happily and clapped her hands together. Meanwhile, Cordelia teared up, clearly delighted with it.
“Oh, I do not think I have ever been so happy as I am now,” Cordelia said with glee as she came toward Hermione and straightened out the skirt.
“Truly?” Hermione asked in shock. She had always thought that Cordelia was going along with her father’s plans in order to keep the family at peace and solvent, yet her aunt did truly look over the moon at the turn of events.
“Of course,” Cordelia said, her smile so great that her cheeks were dimpled. “What you are doing will bring such peace to your father. Does that not bring you joy?”
Not in the slightest.Hermione bit her lip in order to keep the thought to herself. Instead, she rubbed the bruise on her wrist that was healing, with just a greyish patch left behind.
“Once you and the Duke are married, your father will be able to ask for a loan to cover his debts,” Cordelia said excitedly, circling Hermione as she fussed a little more with the gown. “All of our family’s problems will be over, and we can start again.”
“Start again?” Hermione asked, confused by the words. “No, we cannot,” she said hurriedly. At the far side of the shop, there was a sound. She looked toward it, seeing the modiste busy with another customer. Hermione lowered her voice so that no one would hear her. “How long do you reckon it will be until what happened in London reaches Lyme Regis? What will the Duke say then?”
