Chapter Three
Nell’s pulse thrummed against her ears. If spoken by any other man, his words would have been utterly innocuous, a simple, pleasant greeting. But the notes of his all-too-familiar baritone might as well have been a blaring alarm.
For the span of several heartbeats, Nell gazed at him. So, it was him. Her imagination had not been deceiving her.
Rafe was here. Now. Standing before her.
By Athena’s spear, she had not expected this.
Without warning, the room seemed to tilt beneath her slightly trembling knees.
The plate in her trembling hand went askew, tipped sideways. Somehow, she kept her grip on the fine china, saving it from crashing to the hard oak planks beneath their feet. But the cake was another story.
The frosting-laden slice slid from the plate. With a plop, it landed on the floor.
Strong hands caught her. Supported her.
Rafe’s hands.
“I’ve got you, Nell,” he said against her ear, a near whisper she doubted anyone had overheard.
Macie’s quiet gasp cut through the whirl of Nell’s thoughts. The fog around her seemed to fade.
She followed the trail of Macie’s gaze to the floor. To her now-frosting-covered slippers.
Macie nibbled her lower lip. “Oh dear.”
Suddenly, Nell felt curious gazes bearing down on her. Several of the wedding guests had turned to see what the fuss was about. Their faces betrayed their surprise. Their concern. And to her dismay, their amusement.
Drat! Drat! Drat!
With sudden clarity, Nell understood why Penelope had uttered the words of distress and frustration that now echoed in her thoughts. Just as Penelope had, she’d wanted everything to be right on this day. She’d wanted everything to be perfect.
Now, she had created a spectacle. And Rafe had been there to witness the entire, ridiculous scene. And worse, he’d seen her reaction to his presence.
If only she could wish herself away from this place. From this moment.
She wanted to run from their observing eyes.
Most of all, she wanted to escape his gaze.
But she did not flee. She did not even try. Instead, she pulled in a breath, summoned her dignity—difficult as that was with toes covered with bits of wedding cake—and hiked her chin. Calmly, she wriggled out of Rafe’s gentle hold and met his smoky hazel eyes.
Surprising, how very warm their expression seemed as he looked at her. Even now.
“Why are you here?” Her question came out flat, spoken in a quiet, oh-so-civilized tone.
“I was invited.” His reply was simple and to the point.
“How very unexpected,” she said, her tone polite.
And unfortunate. She’d hoped to live out her days without ever again encountering the wild-at-heart artist who’d left her behind in Paris without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Yet now, here he stood, every bit the proper English gentleman.
“I am kin to the groom.” His words were very matter-of-fact, but his expression betrayed an emotion she could not read.
Nell squared her shoulders, determined to salvage as much of her dignity as she might. “I suppose I should see to the mess I’ve made.”
“That will not be necessary, miss.” A neatly dressed maid approached, proper tools in hand to clean the spilled cake.
“Thank you.” Nell stepped aside and out of her way. She slanted Rafe a glance. “I suppose I should be seeing to the other mess I’ve created.”
Thankfully, the curious guests had lost interest as quickly as her fiasco with the cake had sparked it. Managing to slip out of her shoe without causing another scene, she edged toward a small table and chair.
Rafe followed her path. Turning to him, she met the questions in his eyes. He reached for her, as if to catch her hand in his, but she deftly avoided his touch.
“I understand seeing me here… It must’ve been an unpleasant surprise.”
With the table to her back, she faced him directly. “Now that is putting it mildly,” she said, nearly a whisper.
Macie joined them at the table, brows knitted with concern. “Are you all right?” She searched Nell’s face. “For a moment, I thought you might actually swoon.”
Truth be told, so had she. But Nell wasn’t about to admit it. “I don’t quite know what came over me,” she said, not an entirely untrue statement.
Finn approached, standing behind his wife.
He possessively placed a hand on her forearm and drew her close.
Judging from his relaxed smile, it seemed he was unaware of what had just taken place.
Not surprising, really. When they were near, Finn only had eyes for Macie.
Other than, of course, taking note of the stocking-clad toes beneath Nell’s silk gown.
“Now that is a new look for you,” he teased, his eyes flashing with humor.
“Finn, don’t even start,” Macie said.
“I experienced a bit of clumsiness,” Nell explained in a light tone. “Though I must say, the cake got the worst of it.”
“That would explain the crumbs on your skirt,” he said with a chuckle.
Macie sent him a little glare. “Finn Caldwell, please do behave.”
“I guarantee you will not be saying that tonight,” he said, cheeky as ever.
“You, my dear husband, are incorrigible.”
“As always, dear wife. But you know I’m right,” he replied with a good-natured grin, then turned his attention back to Nell. “I see you’ve met our newest investor. I’d planned an introduction, but it would seem Arrinton has taken it upon himself to make the acquaintance of our lovely friend.”
“Arrinton?” Nell repeated dully as the truth dawned on her.
“The Duke of Arrinton—Henry,” Finn announced. “So, it does appear an introduction remains in order.”
Once again, the floor seemed to tilt beneath Nell’s feet. Ever so slightly this time. Breathe. She could get through this.
Lightly resting her hand upon the back of a chair, she steadied herself. As she replied to Finn, she shifted her gaze to the duke.
“I, for one, would certainly appreciate a truthful introduction.”
Finn’s brow furrowed. “Is there another kind?”
“You might well be surprised,” Nell said.
Appearing somewhat bemused, Finn plowed his fingers through his thick sandy-brown hair, then set about the introductions.
“Henry, is it?” Nell said. In Paris, she had known this man as Rafe. Deliberately hardening her gaze, she studied him. Pity he could not actually feel the invisible daggers she hurled.
“My given name,” he explained.
“It is the most peculiar thing, really,” she said. “For quite some time now, it would appear I have been operating under a misconception.”
“Nell, what are you saying?” Macie asked, concern clear in her eyes.
Once again, Nell aimed a dagger-filled look at the duke, or Rafe, or whoever this man truly was.
When he spoke, his tone was even. Far cooler than the heat in his eyes. “And what might this misconception be, Miss Blake?”
Miss Blake. So very proper. So very civilized.
So very different from the man she’d loved in Paris.
In truth, he had not changed very much since the night before they’d parted.
Not outwardly, at least. His hair was still the same rich shade of reddish brown.
His face was still ruggedly handsome. When he spoke, the notes of his voice were still a husky baritone.
And his body—well, he was still long and lean and delectably well muscled beneath his precisely tailored evening suit.
But something had changed. She had never dreamed the man who had once kissed her senseless would be capable of such cool detachment.
“Is it possible that I have confused you with another?” She kept her tone as chilly as his.
“There has been confusion,” he said, his voice tinged with an emotion she could not name. “But I must confess, it is of my own making.”
Well, at least that was something. “Indeed.”
“What’s all this about?” Finn inquired, his manner not quite as relaxed as it had been moments earlier. “Is there something I should know?”
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Nell said, forcing a lightness into her response. “As it turns out, I’ve developed a bit of a megrim. So much excitement today.” She slanted Macie a speaking glance. “Perhaps I will retire to my chamber until this aching in my head subsides.”
“An excellent idea.” Her friend offered a knowing smile. “You’ve done so much to help prepare for the wedding, it’s no wonder you’re a bit weary. I’ll be sure to summon you before Pen and Bradley depart.”
Nell saw the understanding in her eyes. Macie had figured it out so easily. Without another word, she took her leave.
Or so she thought.
Padding with one stocking-clad foot over the cool floor, she cut a straight path out of the reception hall to the grand staircase. Lifting the skirt of her dress just enough to navigate the steps, she heard Rafe calling after her.
She was tempted to pretend she was unaware of his presence, but she thought better of it. If he followed her, his actions might well cause yet another scene. Pulling in a fortifying breath, she turned.
Good heavens. He was toting her shoe. Walking briskly toward her, he dangled it from his finger in such a way that gaslight gleamed off the bits of creamy frosting that still clung to the kid-leather upper.
“Hullo, Cinderella.” His voice was huskier and his eyes displayed a touch of humor that had been markedly absent moments before. “It would appear you’ve left something behind.”
Dash the luck. She must’ve dropped the slipper before she left the reception hall.
“You might’ve given it to Macie or Finn,” she said, taking it from his hand. “They certainly would’ve made sure I received it.”
“True,” he said with a nod. “But if I had chosen that path, I would not have had this chance to speak to you.”
“It would appear that you are confused.” She clipped the words between her teeth, keeping her tone as no-nonsense as possible. “While I do appreciate your effort to personally deliver my cake-clad shoe, I see no reason to engage in a conversation.”
“You might want to reconsider.” An all-too-familiar gleam lit his eyes. “You, of all people, know how very persistent I can be.”
Turning away, she made it up three of the stairs before he stopped her in her tracks.
“I’ve missed you, Nell.” His voice was low, his words edged with gravel.
She whipped around, facing him. “Missed me?” she scoffed, coating her words with a layer of frost. “So many months have passed since I’ve last laid eyes on you.” Emotions she could not bear to display scalded the back of her throat as she held back tears.
“I never intended to hurt you.”
For a long moment, she could scarcely think, let alone utter a suitable reply. She studied him, seeing the truth in his eyes. He’d meant what he said.
“Do you care to tell me who you are?” Nell steadied her voice with sheer will. “Who you truly are?”
A flicker of what looked like regret darkened his eyes. “My name is Henry Rafe Chandler. I am the ninth Duke of Arrinton.”
Rafe. His second given name. So, he hadn’t entirely deceived her.
He’d only conveniently left out a rather pertinent truth.
The man was a duke, of all things. Somehow, while he was whispering words of love and brushing soft kisses over her lips, he’d forgotten to mention that he was a noble. Oh, and that his name was not actually Rafe. He had casually broken her heart without even bothering to tell her his true name.
Had he played her for a fool?
She rubbed her temples. The vague ache was growing more intense by the moment.
“I don’t quite know what you expect me to say… what you expect me to do,” she said, speaking softly and as calmly as she could manage. “Good night, Your Grace.”
With that, she turned and hurried up the stairs. At the top, she glanced down to the foot of the steps.
No one was there.
She wasn’t sure why she looked for him. She should’ve felt relief at the realization that he had respected her wishes. That he had simply left.
Pity her heart did not agree.