His friend raised his brows searching. “Spill all.”
Thomas took a deep breath. Burning pain radiated from his side, sending him crashing down on one knee, gasping. “Damn, but my side kills.”
Myles ran to Thomas, helped him up, and moved him to a chair.
“Much better, thanks. Now as to what happened…” He would never admit to anyone he compromised Emma on purpose; even his two best friends would not understand. “I found her out in the Boonevilles’ gardens alone with Major Fontaine. He was forcing himself on her, the bloody bastard. When I think about it now, I wish I had pummeled him bloody instead of shoving him on his way.”
When Thomas had come upon them and found Emma struggling in the major’s arms, his heart had physically stopped and he literally saw red. If he hadn’t been so concerned for Emma he would have beaten the man senseless there and then.
“Anyway, I was consoling her when somehow or another we were found sharing an intimate moment––by Lady Shrewsbury and Mrs. Winchester, of all the ladies in attendance.” He hissed as a wave of acute pain pierced his side again and spread throughout his entire body. Could one actually die from guilt?
It took a moment to figure out Myles was shaking with laughter, not anger.
“Well, it’s settled then. You have found your duchess and will have married off your ward in one ceremony.” Why was Myles finding this so humorous?
“You can stop laughing on my account,” Thomas groaned, hissing in pain.
“Why, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not a death sentence.” Myles paused and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m having the most fun I’ve had in days.”
“That’s not all of it. I had proposed earlier in the day and she refused.”
More laughter rang out from his so-called friend.
“You’d best come to my house tomorrow morning,” Thomas snapped. “I’m sure you can amuse yourself while I tell my mother the details of the evening, the outcome––my engagement, and then you can listen while she lectures me on all things proper and not proper. And how she had high hopes for my marriage.”
Damn, he did not relish explaining this to his mother. But there was no way around it. Not now.
He turned to Myles. “Go home, get some rest. And by the way, I danced with Marissa.” More shredding pain struck him, but he breathed through it. “Did you know she fancied Sebastian?”
“What!” Myles yelled.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea. You know how alive and animated your sister is. Well, when I told her about Sebastian moving to America, she shut down.” Thomas spoke through gritted teeth. Was there no end to the guilt raging through him? Surely this pain would dim. “You should go home. Talk to her, have her write my brother. Or write to him yourself. I can give you the details to locate him. Maybe then he’ll come back and stop this madness.”
“Humph.” Myles buttoned up his overcoat and stuffed his neckcloth inside the pocket. “I’ll try to get back early in the morning. You need to go home and deal with your mother and the details before word reaches her. I fear she will never forgive you if she finds out through the gossip mongers.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The moment Myles entered the hallway leading to Marissa’s bedchamber, he heard sobs. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door. No answer. He turned the knob and opened the door slowly so as not to startle her.
Marissa sat, bent forward, on the edge of her bed, her face cradled in her hands. Her small body, clothed in a white dressing gown, shook as she cried, causing his heart to pause mid-beat. Why had she never told him about her feelings for Sebastian? He could have helped bring them together.
“Marissa, honey…” He sank down next to her and hugged her close. It seemed all she needed was to rest her head on his shoulder. While Myles’s fingers stroked her long hair, the identical shade to his, he murmured soothing words. After awhile she took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose, albeit in a most unladylike way. Then she dried her tears.
At that moment it hit Myles like a runaway wagon piled high with bricks––he was the big brother to five sisters. He groaned. This was just the beginning of much heartbreak to come. Gentlemen who broke ladies’ hearts should be skewered through with the sharpest sword imaginable. The large claymores favored by the Scots would do nicely.
“Are you fine?” he asked, not wanting to come right out and ask about Sebastian and start the crying all over again.
“My dear brother,” Marissa said between loud hiccups. “When you marry, whomever you marry… She will be the most fortunate lady alive.”