Chapter 11 #3
“So she ruined your reputation,” he said, “your life, because of her own foolish indiscretions?”
“Yes.” There was nothing more to say, really.
He turned away as if to shield me from the brittle flash of anger in his eyes. But I saw.
“Did you not fight back?” he said, his voice tight. “Tell everyone the truth?”
“No,” I said. “I wish I had. But I was out of my depth and terrified that my future was gone. I did not have the weapons she did, the connections and status. The war was over before it had truly begun.” I sighed, brushing back a curl.
“I retreated home to lick my wounds, though the rumors chased me there as well. I cannot go anywhere without whispers and censure following in my wake.”
Mr. Rawlings finally looked back at me. “I am sorry,” he managed roughly, “that this happened to you. She must be a hoyden indeed to spread such slanderous lies. The things I heard—” He stopped abruptly, realizing where he was leading the conversation.
“Oh, I’ve heard them all.” I pretended an indifference that I certainly did not feel.
“That I’m secretly wed to a gardener and carrying his child.
That I am dying of a mysterious illness and my parents are desperate to marry me off before anyone discovers it.
That I have a problem with drink and spend my days in a sodden stupor . . .”
He said nothing, though his shoulders tightened.
“How did you hear such things?” I asked, suddenly curious. “I’d only been in London for a day or two before we went to Vauxhall, but you knew even then. I assumed it would take longer for the rumors to catch up to me.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked almost imperceptibly. “That is my fault, I’m afraid. At the dinner party, I realized you had an interest in Drake, so I asked around, wanting to know more of you.” Mr. Rawlings cleared his throat before continuing. “I did not expect to find what I found.”
“Oh.” That was certainly not the answer I’d anticipated, and it took me a moment to consider all the ramifications. Then I jolted to a stop. “So you knew of the rumors before we coerced you into coming to Vauxhall with us?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Ha!” I jabbed a finger into his chest. “So you did send Mr. Drake off on that ridiculous errand on purpose! To miss our meeting!”
“Would you have not done the same for your friend?” he asked, brow raised, not looking at all remorseful. “If you believed what I did back then?”
“That hardly matters,” I declared. “I am heartily offended. You were so high and mighty about how important the case was and how you would never deign to muddy your boots with such silly antics. But I was right all along!”
I made to prod him with my finger again, wound up in my righteous indignation, but his hand caught mine, grasping it just beneath the wrist. Neither of us wore gloves, and the feel of his warm skin against mine sent a bolt of pure energy shooting up my arm.
My breath faltered, tangled in surprise, and I stared up at him, into those ink-dark eyes that seemed to hold an endless array of secrets. The wind whisked through my skirts, blowing them against his boots, tossing my curls into disarray around my face.
“I think,” he said, his gaze roaming my face with a slow, deliberate intent that left my lungs aching for air, “that we can both admit we judged each other wrongly at first.”
The trees rustled above us, a soft stirring that did nothing to mask the inescapable drumming of my heart.
“I do not think I judged you wrongly,” I managed, breathless. “You are abrupt, arrogant, and aloof, just as I surmised within five minutes of making your acquaintance.”
“You flatter me,” he said dryly.
We stood so close together. I could have stepped away, tugged my arm from his grasp, but I did not.
“But,” I amended, “you are certainly more than that.” I dared to lean an inch closer. “I have much to discover about you yet, Alexander Rawlings.”
He did not move for another long moment, staring down at me, his large hand wrapped firmly around my wrist. Then he released me and stepped back. I took a short breath, trying to hide how very much he’d unnerved me.
“You mustn’t call me Alexander in public,” he said.
“Only in private, then?”
He let out a sigh of exasperation, but there was a slight upward turn of his mouth, if I was not mistaken.
I turned away, focusing on a nearby stone figure atop a column—some Roman god, I assumed. I attempted to calm my racing pulse but did not succeed.
“Why did you return to London?” He moved past me to inspect the statue as well. “If your previous visit ended so poorly?”
“Ginny convinced me,” I replied. “She was the only one who did not abandon me after the rumors spread and the only one who knew the truth of what happened. She insisted I had to reclaim my life. And so I went, determined to conquer my demons. It did not work quite as I intended.”
“No,” he said. “It seems you have only added new ones.” He paused. “I am sorry for it. I wish you had not been caught up in this case.”
“I can hardly blame you,” I said. “You did not choose this.”
His eyes found mine again. “No, I did not.”
There seemed to be some hidden meaning in his words that only he knew.
He cleared his throat and turned away. “We ought to go back to the house.”
“Yes,” I said. “Your mother will have missed me, I am sure.”
I thought that maybe he smiled again, but I could not be certain.