Luck Is No Lady(64)

When he drew back, the tight ache inside him told him it would never be enough. He dropped his hands to his sides. “I must take leave of you here,” he said quietly.

“You are not going back?”

His lips curved in a tense smile. “I am not exactly fit for socializing at the moment. Besides,” he added ruefully, “I was not invited.”

“Oh,” she said, but did not move to leave their private arbor.

If she did not go soon, he would end up dragging her with him to his carriage, back to the club and up to his bedroom.

He cleared his throat to dispel the thought.

“You should go,” he murmured.

Still she did not step away.

Guilt and lust clawed at each other within him, both desperate to claim greater influence. “Nothing is changed,” he assured through a tight throat. “We are still friends. When you come to the club, it will be as though nothing happened.”

“Do you really believe that?”

The straightforward nature of her question surprised him, though it shouldn’t have.

“I have to,” he answered honestly. If he didn’t believe it, he would have to accept he could be just like his father, ruining young innocents and leaving them to deal with the consequences. He had not taken her virginity, but he had definitely crossed a line.

She stepped around him toward the path. Her scent drifted toward him as she passed and he tightened his fists to keep from sliding his hands around her and drawing her back into the curve of his body. She stopped just before going beyond the edge of honeysuckle. The moonlight bathed her form in pale light as she turned back to him. “I will see you Monday, Mr. Bentley.”

He gave a short bow of his head, her formality hitting him hard in the gut.

And then she was gone.





Nineteen


Emma did not see Roderick at all on Monday. Nor did she see him the next day or all of that week.

She reminded herself this was not unusual. She often went days without encountering him. There was no reason to think he might be avoiding her.

Still, a hard lump of disappointment lodged in her awareness.

She wanted to see him. If only to assure herself they could still be friends, as he had said.

Part of her feared that was not the case. Something had drastically shifted in their relationship. Something had shifted in her.

Since their night in the garden, she felt as though she had been bound by a winding cloth that constricted her lungs and limited the movement of her limbs. She felt as though she didn’t fit anymore in her own skin. Her clothing felt too tight, her very manner too restrictive.

She tried her best to continue along with her work as though nothing had happened, pretending to the world and to herself that she hadn’t been infinitely changed by her experience with Roderick.

At the end of the week, she came across an issue in her review of the club’s accounts. After she triple-checked her calculations, there was no denying a discrepancy existed; the first evidence of Goodwin’s perfidy.

Roderick had told her to advise him immediately upon discovering anything out of the ordinary. So at the end of the day, she scooped up the ledger and her notations and headed to his office. The doors were closed as they had been that morning when she arrived. She stood in the hall, undecided.

She straightened her spine and gathered her composure. She was a practical woman. The accounts had nothing at all to do with what had happened in the Lovells’ garden. She could keep the two issues completely separate. There was no reason to feel such a fluttering in her belly.

She shifted the ledger to her hip and lifted her hand to knock on the door.

“He is not here.”

Emma jumped and turned to see Bishop leaning against the wall several paces down the hallway. He was dressed in his footman’s garb and the amused gleam in his eyes gave her the impression he had been standing there watching her for quite a while.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Bentley is gone. He left London Sunday morning.”

He had been gone for nearly a full week, having left the day after the Lovells’ party…and their interlude in the garden. The realization caused a tightening in her chest. She ignored it as she turned toward the footman. “Do you know when he is expected to return?”

Bishop shrugged. “Can’t say. He’s inspecting investment opportunities. Sometimes it takes weeks. Depends how far he had to travel.”

“I see.” Emma looked down at the ledger stuffed with loose sheets showing her work and itemizing what she had found. For a moment, she considered returning the books to her own room, but tomorrow was Sunday. If Roderick should return tonight or even tomorrow, he might want the opportunity to review what she had found.