Page 24 of A Love to Remember
Rose gritted her teeth. “Why, thank you, Conrad.”
The wretched man had just praised and insulted her in the same breath. Really, he was beginning to wear on her patience.
She wondered at her younger self’s naivety. Yes, hewasstill incredibly handsome, but his looks weren’t the only thing that had attracted her after Roxborough’s death. At one-and-twenty, she had succumbed to Tremain’s lures because he was the first man to be kind to her. Or that was what she had thought at the time. Looking back, she understood it wasn’t kindness that had driven him, but ego. He wanted to be the first to seduce the young widow.
Now she saw how—at every window or mirror they passed—Tremain would glance at himself in their surface, trying to catch his reflection. To make sure his dark hair was groomed to perfection, that the latest French fashions and his breeches showed off trim calves and strong thighs to best advantage. That he was tall enough to be imposing, that his jacket fit without a wrinkle.
His face was classical Greek, with a long nose over full lips and high cheekbones. Jet-black lashes set off the blue of his eyes.
But when Rose looked closely into those eyes she saw only conceit. He knew how good he looked. He expected to be worshipped and adored. How had she never noticed before how vain he was?
Now Rose had learned that Philip would not be putting in an appearance. It was all too much. Her head ached and she just wanted to go home. Drake had a cough and she was worried.
She smiled, willing herself to appear calm and collected. “If you don’t mind, Conrad, I’m in need of a private chat with Lady Jersey. Would you be kind and dance with one of the young ladies who is not as popular this evening?”
Outraged conceit lifted his chin in a haughty refusal. “I—they are—”
“You’re the most handsome man here. Everyone will think very highly of such kindness.”
“Of course.” He’d grasped the prospect of looking good in theton’s eye very quickly. “I shall find you later to escort you in to supper.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Relieved, she quickly made her way through the throng, trying to ignore the rumbles and murmurs.
The evening was heading toward a total disaster. While Portia’s idea of allowing a select few gossips to learn that the Wicked Widow was looking for a husband held merit, Rose’s encouragement of Tremain had been shortsighted. The man was a bore. In a few more minutes—and before the next set ended and Tremain returned—she would plead a headache, call for her carriage, and go home.
The doors to the terrace stood open, allowing the chill evening air to cool the heated rooms. To get away from Tremain, she’d risk the cold outside to clear her head. She pulled her wrap tightly around her shoulders, stepped out onto the dimly lit terrace—and into the fragrance of cheroot smoke. Philip liked to smoke and she missed the aroma scenting the air of her home already.
“I had not realized that ending our affair would cause such a stir.”
Philip. She whirled to face him as he stepped out of the gloom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out here.”
He moved close and ran his finger down her cheek, gazing silently at her as she stood there, mesmerized. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
She licked her lips. His eyes flared with heat. “Beauty fades.”
“In my eyes yours never will.”
“You shouldn’t say such things.” She didn’t want the rush of emotions engendered by the seductive tone of his voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”
He stepped back. “I miss you.”
She missed him, too—so very much it hurt. “Do you?”
“Very much. Won’t you reconsider my offer?”
Temptation was a living, breathing thing inside her.Be strong. Be strong.“Won’t you reconsider mine?”
Such longing raced over his handsome features. “If only I could.”
“You could if you chose.” They both knew it was the truth. “You’re choosing not to.”
His face settled into a cool mask. “And you’re here with Tremain. Why Tremain of all men?”
“He’s an old friend.”
“Old lover.”
