Page 85 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He nodded slowly. “Very well. Juliette.” Her conscience pricked at her as he continued to smile. “It’s a pretty enough name, but I must say, Etty suits you better.”
“My father—his name…” She cast her gaze down, summoning the courage, then looked back up again to see doubt in his eyes. “His name is Sir Leonard Howard.”
He frowned, the doubt turning into confusion. Then a spark of recognition glimmered in his eyes.
He shook his head. “Then…”
“My name is Juliette Howard,” she said. “M-my elder sister is…”
He jerked back, rising to his feet, the recognition turning into horror.
“Eleanor,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Dear God—Eleanor! So you’re the sister who…”
She took his hands, curling her fingers around his. “Yes, Andrew,” she said. “I am she. I am the one who, out of jealousy and spite, sought to ruin my sister by humiliating her and exposing her debauchery in public. I wanted the man she was engaged to for myself.”
He withdrew his hands. “The Duke of Whitcombe,” he said flatly.
“Yes.”
“It seems you have a penchant for dukes. May I remind you that I am merely the second son of an earl?”
“How can you speak so?”
“With great conviction,” he said. “Did you attempt to ruin Eleanor before, or after, you gave yourself to the Duke of Dunton?”
She flinched at the coldness in his voice.
“During.”
“During?”
“I-I had already given myself to Dunton—but he rejected me.” Her gut twisted at the memory of his words, and the revulsion she had suppressed at the notion of his hands on her flesh. “S-so I sought to teach Eleanor what it felt like t-to be…”
She caught her breath as the sob welled in her throat.
“Humiliated?” he offered, his expression hardening. “Demeaned?
“I’m sorry for it, Andrew,” she said, “truly I am.”
He shook his head. “Truly I am,” he muttered, a faintly mocking note in his voice. “The words of a sinner who seeks forgiveness even though she can never repent.”
He retreated and rose to his feet, then glanced down at his shirt hanging loose. His lip curled in disgust and a flicker of shame crossed his expression—as if he’d recently engaged in a sin so unsavory that he deserved to burn.
“What have I done?” he whispered.
“Andrew, please…” She reached toward him, but he jerked back.
“No, madam!” he cried. “Say no more. I know not who you are.”
The anger in his eyes fueled her indignation. “And who areyou, vicar? A man who claims to be so righteous that he is incapable of sin?”
“I have never claimed to be free of sin, madam,” he said. “I pray each night for forgiveness—”
“Only to commit those very same sins the next day? Or do you assuage your own guilt by convincing yourself that you have been led astray by a temptress? A whore?”
He flinched and lowered his gaze.
“What, vicar?” she said. “Are you so missish that you cannot bear to hear the word? And yet you are willing enough to rut—”
