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I forced myself to draw a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate and maintain my composure.
Don’t make a scene, Amelia.
Don’t give people another reason to gossip about you.
They had plenty as it was.
I wasn’t even mad at him, not really.
I was mad at myself for falling for it.
Here I was, sitting here like a stupid little girl believing his lies, falling for his faux charm hook, line, and sinker. Just daydreaming about what our lives could be and thinking I had been the inconsiderate one because I didn’t know all these personal things about him.
Of course I didn’t know. I wasn’t having him followed!
This shouldn’t have surprised me.
I should’ve known better.
I did know better.
The fairy tale he was spinning had just been too tempting.
I wanted it to be true. I wanted the things I had heard about him to be some façade he put on for the world, and the way he’d treated me before to be just one side of him. The idea that he could be more gave me hope, so I had chosen to believe it.
Or maybe he had intentionally deceived me. He had wanted me to be the good little girl and thought he could use a reward system like this to manipulate me. If I behaved as I had at the yacht, and in the limo, then he could reward me with a bit of attention and I would keep behaving, giving in to his depravity and letting him use my body as he saw fit.
He didn’t care; he hadn’t been paying attention.
Henry, his assistant, had been spying on me, or his security. Someone had been watching me for weeks. Weeks! If he had known this was what he was going to do, why wait until I was at the altar?
Calling off the wedding in the days leading up to it would have been just as effective to embarrass Mr. Dubois. Then it dawned on me, and I had to swallow the lump forming in my throat. It would have been just as embarrassing for Mr. Dubois, but not me.
By waiting until the last minute, when I was standing in front of all of New York, he had ensured I was damaged goods. He had ensured my reputation would be in tatters, and I would have no choice but to marry him.
Maybe it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Show him what it was like to be engaged to someone who ran hot and cold, who had more than one face.
Footsteps were approaching down the hall toward me, and he’d be back within moments.
Carefully, I put everything back the way I’d found it then grabbed a ballpoint pen from a pocket in his briefcase.
I picked up the paper from the floor, leaving his fountain pen, and started drawing. Just a few quick fast lines that looked like they could have taken time. I didn’t want him to think anything was off.
A time would come, soon, when I confronted him about what I’d found, but I needed to think first.
He entered the gallery. His suit jacket had been re-buttoned, and he looked a little annoyed. I knew the feeling.
“I’m so sorry about that, Amelia.” He undid his jacket button again and sat next to me on the bench. “I promise no more interruptions.”
He leaned over my shoulder, his hand going to my waist as he peered at the paper I was working on and then the papers balled up on the wooden bench next to me. “Not able to find inspiration in Manet’s work?”
“I’ve found plenty of inspiration.” Not for drawing, but that was fine.
He brought his arm around me, and for the first time, his touch made my skin crawl. Not able to take it for a moment further, I stood.
“Thank you for lunch, Mr. Manwarring?—”
“I asked you to call me Luc,” he interrupted.
