Chapter 3
Thea
The garden party was insufferable, and Thea had no one to blame but herself.
She'd accepted the invitation because her mother had insisted, and because refusing would have required an explanation she didn't have the energy to invent. Not that her mother would have been moved on the matter anyway.
Now she sat beneath a canopy of climbing roses, a cup of lemonade in her hand, listening to Lady Caroline Ashby.
“I find that an early walk settles the mind.” Lady Caroline’s voice suggested she were genuinely excited about the topic. “Mama says a duchess must be disciplined in all things. The household will look to her for order.”
“How fortunate that you're so well prepared.” Thea kept her smile fixed in place. Lady Caroline was not unkind. That was the problem. She was perfectly pleasant, perfectly mannered, perfectly bred for the role she expected to fill.
The role of Wesley's wife, it would seem.
Lady Caroline hadn't said his name. She didn't need to.
Everyone knew the Dowager Duchess of Greystone had been pushing the match for months.
Lady Caroline's careful references to “a certain duke” and “expectations for the Season” made it clear she believed the matter was all but settled between their mamas. Not that either mother could legally make Wesley take Caroline as his wife if he didn’t wish.
But Thea knew all too well about the influence of nagging mothers.
“Do you walk in the mornings, Lady Theodora?”
“When I can manage it.” Thea took a sip of her lemonade to avoid saying more. She didn’t walk in the mornings. She slept late because she spent her nights dressed as a man, taking money from aristocrats in a gaming hell.
Lady Caroline would faint dead away if she knew.
“I confess I'm surprised we haven't spoken more,” Lady Caroline continued, oblivious to Thea's internal torment of her own unsuitability for a man like Wesley. “We're of an age, are we not? And we share so many acquaintances.”
“The Season keeps everyone busy.”
“Indeed. Though I hope—” Lady Caroline paused. A delicate blush rose to her cheeks. “I hope that will change soon. If certain matters resolve as expected, perhaps I’ll quit the Season for a honeymoon.”
Thea's stomach turned.
Across the garden, Wesley stood with a cluster of gentlemen. He'd nodded to Thea when she arrived—the same nod he'd given a dozen other guests—but hadn't approached her since.
This was the side of the man she'd seen since his father passed. The version of him that made her want to scream, or shake him, or press him against a wall and demand to know where the real Wesley had gone.
But she couldn't do any of those things. She was Lady Theodora Hasting, a spinster sitting in a garden with the woman who would probably become his duchess while pretending she didn't care.
“Lady Theodora?” Lady Caroline tilted her head. “Are you well? You look flushed.”
“The heat.” Thea pressed her lemonade glass to her cheek. “I'm afraid I'm not suited to garden parties.”
Lady Caroline laughed, a gentle, musical sound. “You're so droll. I can see why everyone speaks highly of you.”
Did they? Thea doubted it. Her mother despaired of her. The matrons whispered about her tragic engagement and extended mourning. The gentlemen who'd once pursued her in her first Seasons had moved on to younger, more pliable prospects.
Lady Caroline sat beside her, glowing with youth and propriety, waiting for Wesley to offer for her. She was everything Thea wasn't. Everything Thea assumed Wesley would want.
She supposed she wasn’t the same woman she was before Wesley’s father had died either. Before she had attempted to free herself from Wesley’s hold on her through sex and a betrothal to another man, which hadn’t gone at all according to plan.
Thea set down her glass and rose. “If you'll excuse me. I need some air.”
“Of course.” Lady Caroline's smile didn't waver. “I do hope we'll speak again soon.”
Thea murmured something appropriate and escaped deeper into the garden, weaving between clusters of guests until she found a bench tucked behind a hedge. She sat down and pressed her hands against her face.
This was absurd. She had no claim on Wesley. He'd never pursued her, never declared himself, never given her any reason to believe he wanted more than friendship. If he married Lady Caroline, it would be none of her concern.
And yet the thought of it made her chest ache.
“Lady Theodora.”
She looked up. Wesley stood at the gap in the hedge, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
“Your Grace.” She rose, smoothing her skirts. “I didn't expect company.”
“You left rather abruptly. Lady Caroline seemed concerned.”
“Lady Caroline is the soul of consideration.” The words came out sharper than she intended.
Wesley's brow furrowed. “Has Lady Caroline or one of the guests done something to offend you?”
Yes. No. She didn't know. He was standing three feet away in his perfect coat with his perfect posture, looking at her with polite concern. She wanted to grab him by the cravat and drag his mouth down to hers, so she would know if her kiss would affect him.
“I'm merely tired,” she said instead. “The Season is exhausting.”
“On that we agree.” She felt her expression change to one of weariness, maybe, or frustration. Then it was gone, smoothed away as though it had never existed. “I should return. My mother will notice my absence.”
“Of course. We wouldn't want that.”
He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more. Thea held her breath. The afternoon light caught the sharp line of his jaw, and she remembered the way his touch had felt during the waltz. How badly she'd wanted him to pull her closer. And she still ached for it.
“Enjoy the rest of the party,” he said and walked away.
She watched him go, that familiar tenderness settling beneath her ribs. For just a moment, she'd seen him—the real Wesley.
And she wouldn’t be able to exist in a world where another woman claimed that version of him.
The Silver Fox was busier than usual, but Thea's corner table remained hers.
She'd been coming here for over a year, long enough that Parker kept her seat open, and the other regulars knew not to challenge her claim. Tonight she needed it more than ever. The garden party had left her restless, and only the cards could settle her.
She was three hands in when Wesley arrived with Louis and Max in tow.
He moved through the room with an ease reminiscent of the old Wesley. She'd seen him a handful of times now at the Fox, but it still undid her—watching him become so much like the man she had fallen in love with years ago.
“Kit.” Louis dropped into the chair to her left, already signaling for whiskey. “Ready to take more of our money?”
“Always.”
Wesley took the seat on her other side, and his knee brushed against hers beneath the table. The contact lasted only a second, but heat shot up her thigh. She shifted in her seat, trying to settle herself.
Max made himself comfortable at the table's edge, content to observe as usual. He rarely played, but he watched everything. Thea had learned to be even more careful around him.
“Back for more?” Kit asked Wesley, dealing the cards with quick efficiency. She kept her voice rough, steady. “I thought I cleaned you out last time.”
“I've replenished my funds.” Wesley picked up his hand, and she watched his fingers curl around the cards. She'd often thought about those hands all over her body, considering how those fingers would feel in the most scandalous places. “And I'm feeling lucky.”
“Famous last words.”
The game settled into an easy rhythm. Win, lose, banter, drink. Wesley was playing better tonight. He took two hands in a row and shot Kit a triumphant look that made her stomach flip.
But then she won the next three.
“Damn and hell,” she muttered, pulling the coins toward her. “That's a pretty pot.”
Wesley laughed. A real laugh—the kind that transformed his face and made her want to lean over to him and taste it on his mouth. “You say that every time.”
“It keeps being true.” Her voice came out rougher than she intended. She reached for her drink to cover it.
“Your humility is inspiring.”
“Humility is for people who lose.” She grinned at him—Kit's grin, sharp and cocky. The cap was still pulled low on her brow, but beneath the table, her hands were trembling. “Deal again?”
The hours slipped past. Louis grew drunker, his commentary more outrageous with each round.
“You're letting a boy half your size fleece you,” Louis said to Wesley after Kit won another hand. “It's embarrassing.”
“Then play for yourself and show us all how it’s done.”
Louis had stopped playing several hands ago. “And lose my own money? I'm not a fool.”
Max watched the table with quiet amusement, his gaze flicking between Wesley and Kit in a way that made Thea's skin prickle. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she didn't like the attention.
But she still couldn’t leave. These times with Wesley had become the best part of the Season.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. His coat pulled tight across his chest. Thea's gaze caught there, willing the buttons to pop off, before she forced herself to look at her cards.
This was dangerous. She was staring at him the way Thea would stare, not Kit. If he noticed—
“You've grown quiet.” Wesley was watching her, head tilted. “Finally out of insults and bravado?”
“I’m just saving them for your next loss.”
He smiled at her, and for a moment, she forgot she was supposed to be Kit. Forgot they were in a crowded gaming hell with his friends ten feet away. There was only Wesley, and how badly she wanted to climb into his lap and kiss him until neither of them could think.
“Kit?” Wesley's smile faltered. “You look—”
She dealt the next hand too fast, cards scattering. “I'm fine. And if you want to quit losing at cards, then do a better job at hiding the state of your hand.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“When you've got a good hand, you sit up straighter. It’s a dead giveaway.”
He blinked, then laughed again.
The awkward moment passed. The game continued. But Thea's heart was still racing, her skin too hot beneath her binding. She'd almost slipped. She'd allowed herself to look at him with the desire she felt, and he'd noticed something was off. He couldn’t realize who she was.
She needed to be more careful. She needed to stop coming here, stop torturing herself with the man she wanted, but would never have.
“Same time next week?” Wesley asked when he finally stood to leave, straightening his perfectly tailored coat.
Thea looked up at him. The candlelight caught the planes of his face, illuminating the strong line of his throat where his collar hung open. She wanted to press her mouth there. She wanted to peel off Kit's clothes, and show him who she really was and beg him to want her.
“If you've got more coin to lose,” she said instead.
He smiled at her and Thea's breath caught.
“I'll find some,” he said, and then he was gone.
Louis and Max followed him out, their voices fading into the night. Thea sat alone at the table, her winnings piled in front of her, her body still humming from two hours of watching Wesley be the man she'd always known was still in there.
She was still in love with him.
Thea gathered her coins and slipped out into the night. The cool air did nothing to settle the wanting that burned beneath her skin.
Her heart would never be whole. Wesley was the only man for her, even if nothing would ever come of it, and that was a problem. The kind that didn't have a solution, only a reckoning she wasn't ready to face.