Jane and her tea cakes suddenly disappeared.
“I was a fool,” Owen barked.
Alex forced herself to count to three and remain calm. She’d had a great deal of practice remaining calm in the face of anger, after all. She lived in the same home as Lavinia. “You said it, I didn’t.”
“I need to talk to you. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”
It was a command, not a request. Alex briefly considered ignoring it, but in the end, she made her way to the library, ensuring that no one saw her steal off and that no one was behind her. She arrived after twenty minutes, though, not ten. Owen had taught her that, too. Never be on time for a rendezvous with a gentleman. He’ll always wonder if you’ve changed your mind, and he’ll have to work harder next time.
When she reached the appointed room, she slowly pushed open the door and took two tentative steps inside.
Owen was there, standing near the cluster of seating arrangements in the center of the room. He swung around to face her. His hair was a bit mussed. When he saw her, worry drained from his face.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.
She opened her mouth to reply.
“Wait,” he said. “I know. You’re an apt student.”
She wasn’t about to admit it. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Actually, I want to see you again, tomorrow. At Cass’s house.” He strode closer to her.
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“We can’t talk now?”
“I still need your help … with Lavinia.”
Alex’s stomach clenched into a knot. “I thought your letter said you were done with that. That you would endeavor to do your best.”
“I changed my mind,” he snapped.
Alex turned away from him sharply and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if I can help you anymore, Owen.” It’s killing me.
“Now that you’ve got your Lord Berkeley, you’ve forgotten me?”
“No, but—” She turned to meet his gaze. “Do you love Lavinia?”
“You know I don’t.”
“But you still intend to marry her?”
“Yes. It’s all to work out the way it’s meant to.”
Now was the time, the time to end all of this, the time to tell him that she loved him. To tell him that she’d lied to him, made up nearly everything she’d told him about Lavinia. Now was the time to tell him that Lavinia was as awful as she appeared to be and he’d never be happy with her. That she was the one who liked all the things he liked. That she was the one who would appreciate him for who he was.
But she couldn’t. She wanted him to want her and to choose her over Lavinia first. Not after she begged him. Not after she convinced him. And Lucy’s words came back to haunt her: “Getting him to admit he’s fallen for an innocent is not about to happen quickly.”
Alex glanced down at her slippers and blinked away the tears in her eyes. “I cannot meet you tomorrow, Owen. I have other plans.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Owen hated himself. Detested himself, actually. He sat in his coach, having given his coachman instructions to wait down the street from the duke’s town house until the duke’s carriage emerged from the mews. Alex had said she couldn’t meet him today because she had other plans. Plans? What plans? Was she meeting Lord Berkeley? And since when had Owen become such an overbearing broodish knave that he was going to follow her to wherever she was going? That was right. He detested himself.
But there he was, sitting on the velvet seat, glancing furtively out the window, waiting to see the duke’s carriage pull around the end of the street. As soon as it pulled away, Owen rapped on the door separating himself from his own coachman. “Follow them,” he commanded, feeling like a fool.
As the conveyance took off down the street, Owen considered the events of the last few days. His conscience had forced him to write Alex the note thanking her for her help and telling her he didn’t need to see her anymore. He’d gone so mad that he’d actually even considered Cade Cavendish’s advice. He’d actually contemplated paying a chap to marry Lavinia so he could run off with Alex. He might have even done it if he thought such a chap existed, one whom that harridan would accept. He couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily choosing her, though. No, Owen was the gull who’d been stuck with her.
The coach bounced along the streets of Mayfair and then headed into the part of town where he went only when he was looking for a certain type of gaming hell, and even that was rare. He and his friends preferred the hells that catered to the aristocracy. He glanced out the window again. No mistaking it. There were in the rookeries. He had no way of knowing whether Alexandra was in the carriage ahead of them, but if she was, what in God’s name was she doing going to the rookeries?