Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Isabella shut the door to her chamber and leaned against it, her pulse pounding so violently she feared her heart might burst. The echo of their voices still haunted the hall below—her sister’s pitying tone, Ravensmere’s fury, Hartley’s desperate insistence that he loved her.
The words replayed again and again, as sharp as the morning light bleeding through the curtains.
Her love had been a wager.
Her heart, a game.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling the ache settle deep into her ribs. “How could you,” she whispered to the empty room.
Her maid, hearing her enter, had started forward to offer assistance, but one look at Isabella’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes sent the girl scurrying out again. Good. She wanted no witness to this humiliation.
Crossing to the bed, Isabella sank onto the edge, her knees weak. She stared at her reflection in the mirror—her hair tumbling down in soft curls, her eyes rimmed with tears—and barely recognized the woman staring back.
A woman who had given everything to a man she believed loved her. A man who had laughed behind her back. What a fool she had been.
She wiped her face, but fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. Her gown felt suffocating, the stays too tight, the air too thick. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, but she knew nothing could calm her right now. Nothing could make what had happened right.
The house stirred below. Somewhere in the distance, Rosalind was giving orders, her calm voice covering what must have been chaos in the household.
Word would spread fast—by afternoon, every drawing room in London would be abuzz with her name.
Lady Isabella Ravensmere, the girl who lost her virtue to a wager, or near enough.
A kiss was seen as just as scandalous as giving herself to a man without the security of marriage.
The thought that she’d done that also made her skin crawl and she couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish.
She closed her eyes.
Hartley’s touch burned on her skin. His voice, the way he had whispered her name as if it meant something sacred, still echoed in her ear. And to think she had woken this morning wondering if he would call, if he would ask for her hand as a man in love, not one cornered by scandal.
And now she must marry him or be ruined, the thought as bitter as salt on her tongue. How could she be so foolish as to believe him his words. Her heart squeezed painfully.
Would she ever look at him again and not see the deception? Exhaustion consumed her, but not wanting to give in to despair, she pushed away from the bed, pacing to the window. The sky outside was pale and washed, as though even the morning had no color left to offer her.
Below, the duke’s carriage rolled from the mews. Had Hartley also left? Was he already home, trying to come up with another farce of a lie that would win her heart. Win her trust again.
She scoffed at the thought. Nothing would ever repair the damage that he had done. A knock came at her door, before Rosalind’s soft voice followed. “Isabella, may I come in?”
Isabella’s throat closed, but she managed a quiet, “Yes.”
Her sister entered, closing the door behind her. She crossed the room and stood with her beside the window. “You know we are only thinking of your future, darling. We must protect your name.”
“I know.” Isabella’s voice broke on the words.
“But I cannot marry a man who made me the subject of a bet. It would be bad enough should I only have found out about it, but our friends, soon our family will hear of it. The shame that he married me because Ravensmere found out about our kiss is too humiliating for words. Everyone will know he does not love me, no one will ever believe otherwise.”
Rosalind took her in her arms and held her close. “He came to ask for your hand before the news broke. I saw it in his face the sincerity and care he has for you. No matter how angry I am at him, I do truly think he meant to make you his wife.”
Isabella shook her head, tears gathering anew. “He meant to save himself. He always has. I thought him changed—that he’d left behind the rakish fool everyone has witnessed for years, but he hasn’t. He’s just cleverer at hiding it.”
Rosalind squeezed her tighter before pulling back. “You must decide what you want from this. If you cannot forgive him now, you will have to learn to live beside him in civility. That is what society requires, even if it is not what I wish for you.”
Isabella managed a small, hollow laugh. “Civility. I wonder if I have any of that left.”
Rosalind reached out and smoothed Isabella’s hair from her face. “Rest today, think things through and plan. You will need your strength in the coming weeks.”
When her sister left, Isabella curled onto the bed, drawing the covers over herself. Sleep eluded her, but she closed her eyes anyway, as if shutting out the daylight could banish the truth that her future was no longer her own.