Page 24 of The Truth about the Rogue
Lord Glenfield’s voice had taken on a darker tone and, embarrassed, Andrew dropped his head and shook it.
“No, I suppose that I should not.”
“You most certainly should not!” Lord Glenfield exclaimed, getting up to pour himself another brandy. “You did not see that it was not Lady Faustine?”
Andrew shook his head.
“It was dark and I, being a little frustrated that she had not arrived – Lady Faustine, that is – stepped out of the room to return to the ballroom, only to see the figure of a lady approaching.”
“Whom you then assumed was Lady Faustine.”
“Yes.”
Lord Glenfield nodded slowly, meandering back towards his chair.
“You left the ballroom a little early, simply because you wanted to escape the difficulty you faced? Because you did not want to go to speak to Lord Morton, you decided to return home, and see if you could find a way to break the connection between yourself and Miss Hawick?”
Shrugging, Andrew looked away again, hearing the hint of disappointment in his friend’s voice.
“I am a rogue, after all. I do not want to take responsibility for this, I do not want to marry her.”
“That matters not. All that matters is that youareto wed her,” his friend told him, unequivocally. “You cannot escape from this, not after what you have done. So might I suggest thatyou prepare yourself, come to the soiree and, if Lord Morton is there, speak to him directly.”
Letting out a low groan, Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the wave of frustration to fade away.
“I do not want to do any of that.”
His friend snorted.
“You shall, though.”
With another groan, Andrew lifted his brandy to his lips and took a sip, waiting for it to improve his spirits but, instead, it only sank them lower. His shoulders dropped, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to relinquish all hope of ever being free of this, of being free ofher.
“I suppose that there is every chance that Viscount Morton will refuse me. That must give me some hope, at least.”
His friend snorted.
“Very little hope, I am afraid. You are aware that you are a Marquess and she, the daughter of a Viscount? Why ever would a gentleman of that standing refuse a gentleman ofyourstanding?”
Andrew scowled and pushed himself to rise.
“Then I shall remind myself that, should he accept my request to court Miss Hawick, nothing really needs to change. I can continue on just as I am, albeit with a little more discretion.” He grinned at Lord Glenfield, expecting his friend to laugh and smile in response but Lord Glenfield only frowned, not even the smallest hint of laughter on his face.
“You would continue to pursue other ladies, even though you have a wife?” he asked, as Andrew considered the question, aware of the tug of conscience in his mind, aware that there was a slight flicker of guilt in his heart even at considering it.
“I can see no reason not to.” His friend’s eyebrows lifted. “There are many married gentlemen who are just as they have always been,” Andrew protested, hearing his words but feelingthem to be a little weak. “I did not choose this. I did not chooseher! So therefore, I cannot see why–”
“I will pray that such a view will change, in time,” his friend shot back, a little quickly. “Now, are you to attend the soiree or not?” He cast a sharp glance towards Andrew. “For if you are, you will have to change.”
Andrew glanced down at his shirt, seeing the crumpled lines and the slight stains from where he had splashed his brandy earlier in the afternoon. It was a very good reasonnotto attend, he told himself, for he could simply state that he was not at all prepared and had no desire to go, and all would be well.
But then I should be a coward,he reminded himself, scowling.I know what I must do and hiding here will not remove the need to do it.
“Yes, I shall attend,” he muttered, a little unwilling still. “If you wish to depart without me, I shall find you there once I arrive.”
A small hint of a smile danced about Lord Glenfield’s lips.
“Then I shall wait, I think.”
