Page 68 of A Duke in the Rough

She had debated a marriage to Burwood, but as difficult as it would be to live in the same house as Drake, it would be exponentially more difficult if he were married to Anne. Seeing them together, day after day, would crush her.

No. A marriage to Burwood was out of the question.

Three sharp raps sounded at her door. Expecting to see Miranda, or perhaps Charlotte, she prepared a—hopefully—believable reason for disappearing.

However, she did not expect to see her father waiting on the other side.

“Honoria. May I come in?” He peered behind her, then scanned the room.

It wasn’t until she widened the door to allow him entrance that he met her gaze. His brows drew together. “Your eyes are red. Have you been . . . weeping?”

The strangled sound of the last word almost made her laugh.

Almost.

But not quite.

Her father had always been uncomfortable around strong emotions; he believed them a sign of weakness.

“Nothing with which to concern yourself, Father. Why did you wish to see me?” She could count on one hand the number of times he appeared in her room, typically leaving the task to her mother, or at least her maid.

“You left abruptly.” He looked around the room again.

What did he expect to see?

“The hours spent at Anne’s bedside have taken their toll. I merely came up to rest.”

“Alone?”

She jerked back at his implication. “Of course alone. Who did you expect to be with me?”

It was a day for rare occurrences, for he pulled his gaze away. His lips tightened in a grimace, the expression on his face like a small boy caught doing something naughty. “Well . . . I saw Merrick heading upstairs shortly after you left and?—”

“You thought I had made an assignation with him?!” She had never wished to strike her father, but at the moment, she envisioned delivering a sound slap. It remained an unexecuted action. But words, those were a different matter. “How dare you!”

“Honoria.” He held out his hands in supplication, and her mind immediately went to Drake’s pantomime with Anne. “We can’t let that ugly bit of gossip resurface. It could ruin any chances you have with Burwood. You must understand.”

“Oh, I understand. You don’t trust me.” She kept to herself that if circumstances were different, she might very well have suggested a liaison with Drake.

“It isn’t you I don’t trust. It’s Merrick. I’ve seen how you have been mooning over him. Say what you will about him; the man isn’t blind. Men will take what isn’t theirs if they think it’s freely offered—intentions honorable or not.”

“Drake isn’t like that.”

“No?” He waved it aside, no doubt realizing he fought a losingbattle. “Nevertheless, perhaps now that he’s attached himself to the Weatherby girl, you will see the futility of any future with him.”

“On that, you can rest easy, sir. I understand the implications of his attachment to Anne all too well.”

More than you realize.

His expression softened, and at that moment, he looked more like the father who had bounced her on his knee as a child. Devoted. Loving. Protective. “I only wish for your happiness, my dear. Burwood, although not the most couth of men, has shown great interest, and with your gentle touch, he could become a duke you would be proud to call husband.”

“My happiness?” She did laugh then. “If you had cared for my happiness, I would be married to Drake this very moment. Perhaps with children you could dote upon.”

“Honoria,” he pleaded. “You were a child. Incapable of making good decisions. What father would allow his well-bred daughter to marry a groom?”

“One who loves his daughter.”

The door to her room remained open and a servant passing stopped and peered into the room, her eyes widening.

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