Chapter 7 #3
“Marriage cannae be my goal, Cash,” she said so low he realized he was leaning forward to catch the words.
“I learned all about the pleasures of the flesh and chose to bear a son out of wedlock, therefore completely ruining me in the eyes of Society, which are—of course—the ones that matter.” She said the words as if by rote, before whirling back around and piercing him with a dark glare.
“I am the most unmarriageable earl’s daughter in Britain. ”
She wasn’t wrong. Even he had assumed the worst about her before he’d come to know her.
Of course, after he’d come to know her, he’d realized Athena was as perfectly unfettered and unconcerned as he’d hoped she’d be.
Lady Athena Oliphant, you idiot.
Something must’ve showed on his face, because she made a little noise of disgust and looked away. “Ye cannae even argue, Yer Grace.”
“What do you expect me to say?” he burst out, suddenly as angry as she. Angry at Athena for not telling him the whole truth, and angry at himself for not asking. For letting himself believe it didn’t matter. “You are a lady.”
“Nay, I was a lady!” She snapped back, her hands falling to her hips. “Now I am a doxy!”
The silence after her proud—bold—impossible—declaration fell hard, slamming around the inside of his head, echoing mockingly.
With a sigh, he reached up to rub at his temples, the irritation pounding behind them. “Your father is an earl.”
“Aye, and my brother’s a viscount. I have all the best education, all the best breeding, and I am still ruined. Why? Because I had the audacity to—”
“Love your son,” he finished quietly.
The reminder caused her to gape at him.
“Why are you so angry, Athena?”
“Ye are a duke, Yer Grease,” she spat out. “Ye didnae think to mention that to me?”
He vowed not to be distracted by her attempt at insulting him.
“Well, you’re a lady,” he barked in return. “And you never mentioned it to me. I thought you—” He hesitated. “I thought titles didn’t matter to you.”
She threw an arm out scornfully, gesturing at him. “They seem to matter an awful lot to ye, DisGrace.”
He struggled to find his calm. “Are you trying to rile me?”
“Is it working?” she snapped. Then she threw up her hands and turned back to the statue. “Of course titles matter to ye— Ye are here searching for a wife, aye?”
So she remembered what he’d told her that afternoon, when they’d been basking in the aftermath of their ecstasy? “So what if I am?”
A small voice suddenly whispered in his mind: An earl’s daughter would be a suitable duchess.
But not one who’d been so thoroughly ruined. Who’d allowed him to ruin her!
She scoffed as if she could hear his thoughts.
“Oh, ye will get nae arguments from me! A minor country baron might be able to enjoy life, but a duke needs heirs, aye?” She turned just enough to glare over her shoulder at him, her hazel eyes spitting golden fire, and he couldn’t recall ever wanting to kiss her more.
“I told you that,” he barked in agreement. “But I thought you didn’t care about titles.” He thought she’d cared about—about him. As a man.
“Ye are the one who seems obsessed with titles, Duke! What does it matter who my father is?”
Because I can’t make an earl’s daughter my mistress, no matter how ruined she is!
And because she was ruined, he couldn’t make her his wife.
Dukes did not marry their doxies.
“Because…” He swallowed, trying to make sense of this sense of loss. “Because what we’ve been doing is entirely inappropriate—”
“For an earl’s daughter, but it was fine for a woman just looking to enjoy life?”
Which was what he thought her. Of course, that’s what she thought of him as well.
With a growl, he threw up his hands. “I spent so much time planning.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I was going to seduce you with sweets and desserts and laughter and all the things I knew you liked.”
“You didnae have to,” she shot back, icily, as she slowly turned to face him once more. But he saw the pain etched in her expression.
And that pain, the knowledge he’d somehow hurt her, although he didn’t know how, caused his heart to thump in anger. Anger at himself.
“I can’t believe I was going to ask you to be my mistress,” he spat out in disgust.
Maybe it was his tone. Maybe it was his words.
Either way, Athena flinched, her chin coming up in the dim light as she stepped back. He saw her nostrils flex as if she were trying to calm herself, and his palms itched to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, to apologize, although he didn’t know for what.
Finally, she sucked in a breath and haughtily turned away, holding herself regally as she strode toward the marble steps in that hideously wonderful orange gown.
But when she reached the top, she stopped, silhouetted in the lights coming from the large windows behind her. Her hand was on the banister as she turned to look over her shoulder, but he could only make out her profile in the light from the ballroom.
“I would have agreed, Cash.”
She would’ve become his mistress.
Which is why she couldn’t be his wife.
And then she was gone.
Damnation.