Three Weeks With Lady X(56)

Not that it meant he would turn to her; likely he wouldn't.

She would wish him well in the future, in a dignified, yet friendly,  manner. The only thing she had left was her self-respect, and even that  was in shreds and tatters.

Still, she felt better after a bath, not to mention dressing in a  close-fitting gown with a violet overlay and a low bosom. It felt as if  she were going to war-in which case she might as well dress with her own  version of armor.

But in the breakfast room, no one was to be seen besides the butler.  "His Grace and Lord Brody have not yet risen," Fleming announced,  escorting her to a seat.

"And Mr. Dautry?" India asked, trying to give her voice a carefree lilt.

"Mr. Dautry is not at home."

She hadn't expected that. She paused while unfolding her napkin and looked up. "Not home? Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, my lady." Then he added, "He departed in the Duke of Villiers's carriage last night."

"Why didn't he take his own carriage?"                       
       
           



       

The lines next to the butler's mouth deepened. "It was in use."

India frowned. Fleming was Thorn's butler, of course, but in a certain  way, he would always be hers too. After all, she had hired him. "For  heaven's sake, Fleming, surely I might know who was using Mr. Dautry's  carriage?"

The butler closed the door to the breakfast room and lowered his voice.  "It was Dr. Hatfield and Miss Rainsford, my lady. At Mr. Dautry's  request, I sent a man two days ago to acquire a blank special license  from the Archbishop of Canterbury."

Not even by a flicker in his eye did he reveal that the license had been  meant for India and his master, even though he had to know the truth.  Years of experience had taught India that butlers always knew a  household's secrets.

"Shortly after the confrontation with Lady Rainsford outside the house,"  Fleming continued, "Dr. Hatfield requested a meeting with the lady, and  I'm afraid that there was a further exchange of words in the library."

"Lady Rainsford had a very distressing afternoon," India observed, not bothering to feign dismay.

"Yes, my lady. Unfortunately, she made a number of vehement-one might  even say vituperative-remarks before retiring to her chamber. The door  to the library was open, and it was impossible not to hear the  exchange," he added.

India waved her hand impatiently. It would have required superhuman  restraint not to listen. "Was Miss Rainsford in the library as well?"

"No, she was not. But the Duke of Villiers was. After Lady Rainsford  departed, His Grace offered Mr. Dautry's special license to Dr.  Hatfield, and the doctor accepted it."

India gasped. "He did? Did he inform Mr. Dautry that he was doing so?"

"At that time, Mr. Dautry was in the dower house with Miss Rose."  Fleming hesitated, and added, "I fear that His Grace may have  underestimated Mr. Dautry's feelings with regard to Miss Rainsford."

"I see," India said, her voice faint.

"When Mr. Dautry returned to the house, I was below stairs. But I  understand that on learning of the elopement, he made off with all speed  in an attempt to catch the pair before the wedding took place."

India's heart stopped for a moment. Thorn had gone after Lala. He had  desperately tried to stop her marriage to another. He must truly love  Lala.

She herself had been nothing more than an available body.

If she was going to become a fallen woman, at the very least she could have kept her heart whole.

But no . . . she never stopped loving her parents, even when they forgot  to feed her, and she probably wouldn't stop loving Thorn either. Right  now, she felt like a wounded animal. It hurt to love someone like this.

Despite herself, her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled.  Fleming discarded his butler's code of conduct and put a hand on her  shoulder, his eyes deeply sympathetic.

"I'm all right," she said, swallowing hard and not even trying to hide  the pain. "I'll be fine. I think . . . I think I shall return to London  immediately, if you would be so good as to summon my carriage, Fleming.  My maid can follow with my godmother whenever Lady Adelaide wishes to  make the journey."

It was only by a miracle that she managed to avoid bursting into tears  before she climbed into her carriage. And the fact that Fleming pressed  four fresh handkerchiefs into her hand showed that he knew precisely  when those tears would escape.

As it turned out, India cried from the moment the carriage entered the  post road, all the way to London. "It's all right, Peters," she told  Adelaide's alarmed butler, upon her arrival back home. "It's been a-a-a  very trying day."

What woman wouldn't have fallen in love with Thorn? He was seductive and  yet tender and sweet. He had genuinely listened to her, and created the  India rubber band on her design. He was bawdy and rough and real, in a  way that true gentlemen never were.

Even though he wasn't a gentleman by birth, he had always been  scrupulously honest. He hadn't meant to sweep her off her feet. He had  looked her in the eyes, more than once, and told her that their  relationship was temporary, and that he planned to marry Lala.

A sob wrenched her chest. The stupid thing was that men had tried to  tumble her for years. They'd assumed that since they were hiring a woman  and paying a woman, bedding that woman came as part of the package.

She had failed herself. She had forgotten the safeguards she put in  place years ago, the lessons she learned from her father and mother  about life. About love.

Now she felt as if a vital organ had been gouged out of her. Who would have imagined that love could hurt like this?                       
       
           



       

She had to build a new life, one that wasn't agonizingly painful.

One that didn't have Thorn in it.





Chapter Thirty-five

Thorn kept poking at his feelings for India, the way one might poke a  sore tooth. This raw possessiveness wasn't something he ever thought to  experience. Planned to experience.

He drove straight back from Piggleston, consumed the entire way by  relief, and arrived at Starberry Court just before the noon hour. He  needed answers.

"Where is my father?" he asked, cutting Fleming off before his butler could utter a word.

"His Grace is in the library. But, sir-"

"Not now, Fleming." Thorn found the duke alone, sitting before a  chessboard, no doubt studying some arcane stratagem. Villiers looked up  as Thorn entered. Damn it, he looked completely unrepentant. In fact, he  looked amused.

"What in the hell was that about?" Thorn said, keeping his voice  controlled. There was no point in howling at the Duke of Villiers, as he  knew from childhood experience. "You knew damn well that I didn't care  for Laetitia Rainsford. You sent me on a wild-goose chase."

"You didn't enjoy your trip to Piggleston?"

Thorn had learned-if not inherited-his deadly glare from Villiers; after  a moment, the corners of the duke's mouth curled up and he said, "As  your father, I thought you could use a lesson in that most perplexing of  emotions: love."

"I already knew that I wanted to marry India before you drove me halfway to the next county," Thorn retorted.

"Did you?"

The words hung in the air. It was true that Thorn had decided to ask for  India's hand in marriage. But he hadn't understood just how much he  felt for her until the darkest hour of the morning, when he'd realized  what life would be like without her at his side.

It wasn't a question of bedding her. She was his true north, his other half.

"You are my son," the duke continued, his eyes softening. "I thought  there was a good chance you'd inherited my idiocy. By the way, she  turned down Lord Brody's proposal of marriage last night."

"How do you know that?" Thorn felt that muscle jumping in his jaw again.

"I kept him company while he drowned himself in a bottle of Cognac," the  duke said. "I don't expect he'll be down until well into the  afternoon."

"That doesn't mean she'll turn to me. Why would she accept my offer?"  Thorn said savagely. "I've nothing to offer her that he hasn't, and in  truth, a great deal less."

"She loves you," his father said calmly. "Though the emotion won't be  enough on its own. Eleanor fell in love with me, but I had made so damn  many mistakes by then that she wanted nothing to do with me."

"I'm no duke," Thorn said bleakly.

"It's my distinct impression that you treated her like the bastard you are. Do you remember how I courted your stepmother?"

"You bought her a ring the size of a swallow's egg, you put on a black coat, and you pretended to be your own cousin."