Chapter 21 #2
His rational brain knew no woman who’d been proven a liar was deserving of any feeling but scorn from him.
Then Cart thought of the pure kiss they’d shared.
There’d been no hiding for either of them in that moment.
She hadn’t been discouraged by his peculiar tendencies or that on their previous stroll he’d ended up face down in a pond with mud saturating his clothes and boots.
He hadn’t questioned her mysterious appearance at Lady Haversham’s garden party—completely disrupting his well-ordered life.
Everything about him and his priorities had shifted since meeting Jude. So much so, that he barely recognized who he’d become. The worst part was not knowing if it had changed him for the better…or for the worse.
A carriage pulled into the rounded drive in front of him and three men departed the conveyance, each dressed in far better-tailored coats than his own, their boots polished until they shone from the light spilling from the open carriage door.
One man even made use of a cane, making him appear decidedly distinguished.
Cart had never pondered the use of a cane…
odd that a man who looked virile enough would weaken his presence by use of a walking aid.
Cart kept a close eye on the trio as they approached the door, which swung open without them knocking to announce their arrival.
The men were expected guests, but who exactly had they arrived to see?
Cart’s awareness of the men grew as they chuckled at something said by whoever greeted them at the door.
The person stayed just out of sight for Cart.
He felt his judgment slipping, a primal need to follow the men into the house and demand to know the reasoning for their attendance at Jude’s home taking hold.
He’d never been a man to puff his chest and demand anything of others.
That all changed when Jude was involved.
These men did not belong at Craven House.
And certainly, they did not belong anywhere near Jude.
They appeared the high-stepping peacocks that were all too prevalent in society these days.
He would not be astonished to find the trio was known scoundrels.
Without further thought, Cart marched to the open door just as the butler pushed it closed, nearly smashing Cart’s nose. Instead of knocking—as any other gentleman worth his title would do—Cart took firm hold of the doorknob and pushed it open once more, stepping over the threshold unannounced.
It was not until he stood solidly in the house with the three men turning to greet him and several others—servants by their dress, gawking at his impromptu arrival—that Cart comprehended the overwhelming feeling coursing through his body and taking over his actions.
Jealousy.
Red-hot jealousy ran through him as one of the men stepped forward to greet him.
“Lord Cartwright?” the man asked with a grin.
Cart didn’t say a word, not trusting his temper to remain within if he spoke.
“Gideon, Duke of Davies,” the dark-haired man said by way of reception. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting, though I have heard of your great work from Lord Barton. I am happy to make your acquaintance. This is Lord Humberton and Sir Giles.”
Cart nodded to the three men as their names were called.
“Lord Cartwright is an academic man known for his vast knowledge of antiquities,” Davies said to the room at large. “We missed one another by only a short year at Eton.”
“Good evening, my lord,” Sir Giles bowed. “Will you join us for a round at the card table?”
Giles’ invitation did nothing to dampen Cart’s foul mood. “I am here to see Miss Judith, but thank you for the invitation to play. Maybe another time.”
“I will be sending for her, my lord,” the older man, Curtis, called to him and shuffled down the corridor away from the great amount of noise emanation from a room to Cart’s right.
“It was good to see you, Cartwright.” Davies patted his shoulder in camaraderie and moved toward the celebration. “Who is ready to lose their treasured money to me? Giles, I hope you collected your pin money from your wife before coming out tonight.”
Cart watched the men as they disappeared down the hallway, laughter floating back toward him. He would never understand the gesture of slamming another man on the shoulder to show kinship. It seemed more of a punishment than a means of showing another you cared.
Around him, the servants returned to their tasks—none stopping to greet him or pay him any mind. That pleased him more than having to engage in idle talk of inconsequential subjects with strangers while he awaited Jude’s arrival in the foyer.
He noticed no new painting hung where he’d removed his father’s artwork earlier in the day.
At least she hadn’t departed Lord Gunther’s and immediately located another precious object to steal.
It was ludicrous to think she had actually been able to get away with stealing the vase and returning it, all while escaping notice.
Her ability to enter his home without remorse, her guilt being so great as to drive her back out irked him. She’d visited his home and performed as if it had been her first time within.
“Lord Cartwright.” Cart swung around to the main stairs as Jude rushed down, casting a nervous glance around the entry. “What are you doing here?”
His anger returned quickly. “I find it insulting that you should need ask such a question.”
Jude took hold of his arm and pulled him in the direction Curtis had left, away from the laughter and boisterous noises coming from deeper in the house. “Please, come with me to Marce’s private room. We can talk there without interruption.”
It was the same room she’d attempted to lead him to earlier in the day—thankfully, at the moment, his mind was not consumed with taking her into his arms and kissing her soundly. Cart acquiesced and allowed her to lead him down the hall.
When the door shut behind them, Cart instantly moved away from her, needing the distance to keep his thoughts straight. This was his final-final time seeing her. To avoid the need to return, it was imperative that he say all he need say before walking out the door.
“Why would you risk yourself once again to return that blasted vase?”
“You gave me no choice, my lord,” she said, throwing her arms wide in defeat. He did not relish her accepting defeat, but in this situation, it was a necessity. “I am not the horrible person you think I am. And the only way for me to show you that was to return it to Lord Gunther’s home.”
“And what did that prove, except that you are foolhardier than I’d suspected?” he accused.
“It was to prove I care.”
“About what, exactly?” Cart challenged. “Your need to possess things that belong to others? Your need to prove your skill as a thief? The need to see if you can evade the magistrate’s noose once more?”
“None of those things matter to me!” she shouted, taking a step toward him. He held up his palm to stop her.
“Then what?”
“That I care about you.” Her confession should have meant something, cooled his fury at her, or had least given him pause about her true motives, but it did none of those things.
It only convinced him that along with being a skilled thief, she was experienced as a manipulator, as well.
“Cart, I have had an affection for you since the moment I noticed you making your way across the lawn at Lady Haversham’s garden party. ”
A lie, for certain. Using his emotions and feelings for her against him.
Her soul was as white-cold as her delicate, porcelain skin.
For a brief moment, Cart only wanted to flee, get as far from her as was humanly possible.
He could never understand a woman like her.
Jude’s motivations were foreign to him; a perpetuated cycle of misuse and deception brought upon him by a woman who most certainly lacked a heart.
Even their kiss was tainted forever in his memory by her dishonest nature.