Page 75 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

And there it was. Now that Frederick was paying attention, he could not believe how obvious it all was.

She was playing with him. Using him. Using Isabella! She clearly had no intention of leaving, but she did not want to make that obvious. Rather, she had chosen to dance around the possibility, coaxing the answer out slowly, teasing him so that he would think that she was doing something she might not want, as if he was the one making the decision.

Everything George had told him was the truth, and it broke Frederick’s heart. For how attracted he was to Miss Dowding—Miss Dunn as it was, there was more to this relationship than that. He had cared for her like no other. He had been open with her like never before. He had actually wanted her to stay because he thought there might be a chance that… that… that… honestly, it didn’t matter now.

She was still sitting on the table before him. Still holding his hand. Legs spread open slightly as if inviting him. She was looking down at her lap, and he could see her working up the courage to speak, knowing that she was going to say something along the lines of being in love with him, pulling him further into her web.

“Before we agree to anything,” she said softly, almost hesitant, “there is something else…” She swallowed. “One more thing I need to say.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Miss Dunn,” he said.

She nodded and looked up to meet his eyes; they were almost pleading which he did not understand. “I— wait. What did you just say?”

He pulled his hand free, his expression impassive. “I called you Miss Dunn. That is your name, is it not?”

Face stricken with panic, she leaned back, might have jumped from the table if there was room. “I—that is not—I do not know why you would?—”

“And your father is Lord Edgerton, yes?” He spoke firmly, little emotion, facts and nothing more. “You ran away from home two years ago. Home, not an altar where your betrothed left you.”

“Your Grace…” She laughed nervously. “I do not know what you… that is not true. My name is Miss Dowding, and it is as I said…” Her eyes flicked about, unable to even look at him. “My father is Lord Scriven, and I was left at the altar?—”

“Liar!” he roared, his anger finally getting the better of him. She nearly fell back, face paling. “Do not insult us both with your lies,” he snarled. “They are beneath you. They are beneath me!”

Eyes still flicking everywhere. Breathing ragged and harsh. Body shaking. She looked down at her lap, struggling to control herself, struggling to keep any semblance of calm. No doubt her mind was racing with thoughts of what to do next if there waseven anything. And all through it, Frederick watched her, forcing the hate to rise even if he was not feeling it as he wanted.

Finally, she took a deep breath. Still looking at her lap, she spoke softly and into her chest. “When did you find out?”

“Lady Tattershell told me,” he said coldly. “And I have just had it confirmed.Everything.”

“Ev - everything?” she stammered.

“Enough to know that you are not who you say you are. That you have been using me and my grandmother and my daughter to your own end. That nothing you have told us is real. That you are a liar. A fake. A fraud!” He took a deep breath, again forcing calm. “Am I missing anything?”

“It is not what you think,” she said softly, still unable to look at him. “I never meant to… I never meant?—”

“For us to find out? I am sure you didn’t.”

“No!” Her head snapped up, and she looked right at him, her big eyes red, welling with tears. Chin trembling. Pain on her face like nothing he had ever seen. It was almost enough to break him… “It is not what you think. I swear, I did not mean to—you and Esther and Isabella! You were never meant to… this was not about…”

“If you wish to say something, Miss Dunn, say it,” he hissed. “This is your last chance.”

He almost wished that she might have an explanation. That she might laugh and tell him how silly he was being, that nothing he said was true. That somehow, in some way, she could prove him false and realign his fears, for this was not what he wanted. Not even a little bit.

And as she struggled to find the words, he begged silently, hoping…

“There is nothing to say…” She bowed her head again. “You are right. I am a liar and that…” She sniffed. “… that is the truth.”

Frederick’s heart broke in two. Strangely, as the anger surged, so did the despair. Oh, he wanted to hate her. He wanted fury and rancor and malice like nothing else. But he could not bring himself to find it. His legs shook. His stomach imploded. He might have collapsed if he did not want to look weak.

“But please!” She was on him now, looking back up, she reached out and took his face in her hands, holding it so he was forced to look at her. “You must know that I am sorry. I never wanted any of this—for you or anyone to be involved. I am so sorry.”

“And yet we are,” he said softly. Her hands on his face, still so soft and warm. He reached up and rested one hand on hers, held it there for it would be the last time he felt her. “You did this, Miss Dunn. You brought this on yourself.”

“Please, tell Isabella that?—”

“You are not to see or speak with my daughter again.” His voice cracked, and he could see her soul break at the words.

“Tell her I am sorry… and Esther too. Tell her… tell her… tell her…”

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