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“D-Don’t you dare touch me,” she snapped.
“Esther—”
She scrambled for the door and pushed it open, nearly tumbling out of the carriage head-first, but landed on her feet and ran. Felton was a second behind her and dashed to her when she darted to the stables behind the house and yanked the door of her hackney-styled carriage. It did not open before he got to her, and she spun to him with fury across her face.
“Do not dare touch me, you damned swine!” She yanked the door open and hopped in, while the driver, who had been slumbering on a cot in the stable, scuffled past Felton and jumped unto his seat. Felton reached for the handle but stopped.
He had to let her go—probably for good, but he had expected that from the day he had realized that his emotions for Esther were not as black and white as he had expected. So, he stepped away and let the carriage drive away, the ache in his heart, now a hollow crater in his chest.
Retreating to his home, Felton climbed the stairs almost blindly. He stumbled into the bedchamber while tugging his coat off. He dropped it over a chair’s back and sank into it, with his head starting to hurt. If Esther told her brother—and he knew she would—would it be better to go to him first and confessed it all before the Duke came to him?
Will she ever forgive me?
Rubbing his face, Felton de-robed and, going to the annex room, washed his face with icy water before going to bed—knowing that he was not going to sleep.
He tried to think of the blissful look when she had come apart under his touch, but soon those memories morphed into the horrified look stamped on Esther’s face when she had realized who he was. When she had jerked away from him, his heart had been sliced in two.
But if I feel this way, hurt by her rejection, how much worse does she feel, broken by my deception?
***
Unbearable pain ricocheted from Esther’s bruised heart to her numb mind and back again. She hunched over and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying to stem the tears that flowed—but to no avail. Arthur—no,nother beloved Arthur—Felton, a despicable cad, had planned to use her and discard her after he had gotten revenge for his sister.
She could not pass the betrayal, the horrifying revelation of why he had sought her out—not because of her beauty or her status, but as a target for retribution. Futilely, she tried to wipe the tears away, but they kept coming—and Esther knew why.
I love him…no-no! I loved Arthur; that cad Felton is not him!
Logically, she knew there had to be an overlap where Arthur and Felton met, but angry and disconsolate, Esther could not bring herself to think that far. The hackney drove back into the townhouse and came to rest at a stop.
The driver came down and opened the door for her, and Esther wrapped her scarf around the lower half of her face and slipped into the door that had been left open. Quietly, she crept up the stairs to her rooms, and in the family wing, looked down the corridor to her mother’s suite to see no lights coming from under the door.
She’s not awake, good.
Slipping into her quarters, Esther passed Margaret, who was quietly sleeping on her couch, and peeled off her coat and scarf. She bit her lip to keep the sniffles in, but halfway through struggling with her dress, broke down and collapsed, with her knees folded under her. Thankfully, she fell at the side of the bed and pressed her face in the thick covers, sobbing.
How could he! How could he do that to me!
Tears slipped under her eyelids and wetted the bed. Her visions of being married to Arthur, travelling the world with him, building more lumpy snowmen with him…making love with him, vanished like smoke. There would not be a future with him as there was no Arthur Morgan.
Through the pain, Esther felt warm arms circle her body, and she cried even harder, knowing that she should have listened to John when he wanted to investigate Arthur. Perhaps it would have spared her the pain of knowing him so much that she had fallen in love with him.
There is no love; love cannot be based on deception.
But why did her very soul hurt?
“My Lady?” Margaret said, “What happened?”
Try as she might, Esther could not bring herself to say it. When she did form words, what came out was, “It's t-too much, too m-much.”
Margaret whispered the small comforting words in her ear and did little comfort to her, and when her tears dried up, her sobs were hitching breaths in her chest. Margaret helped her disrobe, don her nightdress, and get into bed.
“Shall I get you some warm milk, My Lady?” Margaret asked quietly. “It might help you sleep.”
Shaking her head, no, Esther whispered her thanks to her loyal friend then turned away. She did not need help to sleep; she needed toforget. Subsumed by pain and agony, she slipped off into an uneasy sleep. In her dreams, she saw Arthur laughing at her, but as she reached out to slap him—Felton was crying.
Waking up just as dawn was breaking, Esther remembered the tone Felton had apologized in—begging her to forgive him. It sounded like sorrow, but Esther was not going to fool herself any more; it was a mockery. She had fallen in love with him, only to have it thrown in her face.
The question was, how was she going to explain it to John and her mother. Could she explain it? Tell them that she has sneaked out in the middle of the night to go to a place that sensible misses had no right being, and then, to risk all that and get her heart broken on top of it?
