Chapter One #2
This was the man she’d intended to marry. The man she’d considered allowing greater intimacies. The man she’d believed herself to… love? She had never thought herself to be in love with him.
And she realized what a fool she had been.
She had been so caught up in his words and the intensity of the climax she felt that it had overtaken all of her good sense.
She knew better, and she had allowed herself to fall into the trap of a handsome man with a wicked hand, and mistaken the whole matter for some kind of deeper affection.
Affection that, if she’d thought with her head instead of the place between her thighs, she’d have already known wasn’t love.
His plot would have worked if she hadn’t discovered his true nature. Lydia would have been trapped at his side forever. So perhaps she owed a debt of gratitude to the maid on her knees with Clint’s cock in her mouth.
Lydia wiped her eyes and continued back toward her home.
By the time she reached her family’s townhouse, she had composed herself enough to slip inside through the servants’ entrance.
She reentered the main corridor and listened for the indication that her parents still had guests.
There was no way that she could face anyone else.
It would be impossible enough to face her father and find a way to explain to him why he must call off the betrothal.
She continued through the house and found her father in his study, reviewing correspondence, her mother seated nearby with her embroidery.
“Papa?” Lydia’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “Mama? Might I speak with you both? It’s… it’s rather urgent.”
Her parents looked up with immediate concern. Her mother set aside her needlework while her father gestured to a chair.
“Of course, dearest. Come, sit.” Her mother’s gentle face showed worry. “How are you feeling? Your headache?”
Lydia twisted her hands together, noting how they still shook. “Papa, I… I have something of great importance to discuss with you. With both of you.”
Her father studied her face, and she knew he could see her distress despite her attempts to hide it. He had always been protective of her and she was unsure what he would do once he learned what Clint had done. And what she had done.
“What troubles you, my dear?”
“I cannot marry Lord Durham.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I will not marry him. I know we’ve discussed the match, and I know he’s expressed his intentions, but I will not become his wife.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose. Legally, he was the one who would decide if she would marry Clint, but he had always said the choice would be hers. “Indeed? This is rather sudden, particularly given your enthusiasm for the gentleman only yesterday. Has something occurred?”
Lydia’s cheeks burned with shame. “I… I discovered something about his character that makes him entirely unsuitable as a husband.”
“What sort of discovery?” Her father’s voice had taken on a sharper edge.
There was nothing for it but the truth. “I went to his townhouse this afternoon.” At her mother’s sharp intake of breath, Lydia hurried on.
“I know I should not have gone alone, but I wished to speak with him privately about our future. Instead, I found him… engaged in certain activities with one of his maids. And I beg you to not make me speak further about what I saw.”
That was the least she could hope for. That she didn’t have to describe the scene in detail to her father. She had already been embarrassed enough to last a lifetime.
The quiet that stretched between them was unbearable. Her father’s face darkened like a thundercloud.
“You went to his home alone?” His voice was dangerously low.
“Yes, Papa, but—”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened? What scandal you risked?” Lord Cary rose from his chair, his face flushed with anger. “Lydia, I am appalled by your lack of judgment! A young lady does not call upon a gentleman unchaperoned. Ever!”
“But Papa, what I discovered—”
“Is exactly the sort of information you never should have been in a position to discover!” He began pacing, his hands clenched behind his back.
“The fact that you witnessed his… indiscretions… only proves how dangerous your actions were. What if he had not been occupied? What if he had taken liberties? What if someone had seen you enter or leave?”
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Papa. Truly. But the most pressing matter is that I can’t marry him. Please don’t make me.”
“That bastard is worse than a blackguard,” her father barked. “He’s a libertine monster. I’ll not see my daughter wed to such a man, no matter what arrangements have been discussed.”
Lydia released a long, relieved sigh. “Thank you, Papa.”
“However,” he continued, his tone becoming stern again, “we must ensure that your reputation remains intact. Fortunately, no betrothal has been formally announced, and very few knew of his interest. I’ll handle the matter quietly and make it clear to the scoundrel that he is to never speak to you again.
As far as society is concerned, there was never, and never will be, any understanding between our families. ”
Lady Cary moved to place a comforting hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Your father is right, dearest. And this must never be spoken of again. The scandal would destroy you, and that monster would escape all consequences.”
“I understand.” Lydia wiped her eyes. “And Papa? I’m truly sorry for my conduct today. It was reckless and foolish.”
“Indeed it was.” His voice gentled slightly. “But you’re safe, and you’ve learned something valuable about his character before it was too late.”
“What if I never wish to marry now, Papa?”
Her father rose from his chair and moved around the desk, pulling Lydia to her feet. He embraced her in a comforting hug, and the quiet sobs left her body in the safety of her father’s arms.
“My dear girl,” he whispered. “Not all men are like that bastard. We shall take greater care to ensure you aren’t fooled by a disreputable rake again.”
Lydia nodded into her father’s shoulder and regained control of herself. Pulling back, she gave her father a small nod. “Thank you for understanding, Papa.”
“Anything for our dearest girl. Now go and rest after the trying events of the day while I tend to this matter.”
As Lydia left her father’s study, she questioned how she would find what she now knew she required in a husband. They would have to prove his fidelity beyond doubt. She would not—could not—live with the knowledge that the man she’d married thought so little of her that he’d betray their vows.
She’d been willing to give Clint everything, and he’d seen her as nothing more than a convenient purse with legs. The pretty words and tender touches meant nothing if they came from a man who saw women as objects for his use rather than people deserving of respect and loyalty.
Lydia Cary would marry for love and faithfulness, or she would not marry at all. And she would never again trust a damn rake.