Page 108 of Saving Miss Pratt

Perhaps the remnants of their passion clouded his mind. “What? A woman betrayed your love?”

“In a sense. My mother. I trusted her, believed she wanted what was right for me. I think, in her mind, she does. But her idea of what will make me happy and what I discovered are worlds apart. She wanted me to marry a title and to do whatever was necessary to secure it. But when I witnessed the love the duke had for the duchess, I realized I had misplaced my trust. I yearn for the happiness passion and love can bring.” She paused and ran a finger along his jaw. “However transitory and calamitous it might be.”

He grasped her fingers and kissed them. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more.”

She snuggled back against him. “Don’t be. You’ve given me more than I hoped for.”

Drifting into slumber, he only had one thought.

He didn’t deserve her.

* * *

Although reluctant to break thespell that had engulfed her, Priscilla slipped from Timothy’s embrace.

Sound asleep, he mumbled something unintelligible, then rolled over without fully waking.

Quietly she rose and dressed, struggling with her stays—truly her arms ached from trying to lace and tighten them behind her back.

She gazed down on Timothy, sprawled out on the bed and snoring softly.

Gently, she brushed the lock of auburn hair from his forehead, smiling at how it made him look so rakish. A tiny smile traced his lips at her touch. Pain gripped her heart at the sight of him, and although she had no regrets over what they had shared, the bittersweet memory of it would haunt her every time she gave herself to Mr. Netherborne.

Leaving Timothy, giving him up, was the hardest thing she would ever do. More difficult than becoming Mr. Netherborne’s wife in a loveless marriage. Every instinct in her screamed to wake Timothy and insist they marry. Instead, she rose on tiptoe and leaned over his sleeping form, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I love you, Timothy Marbry. With my whole being. I willalwayslove you. Be happy.”

Although Priscillahadfelt remorse for her deception in compromising the duke four years prior, her sorrow had been rooted in how it affected her directly. Shunned by theton,fleeing London for the desolate countryside of Lincolnshire—and sheep—she lost the ability to promenade through Hyde Park, showing off her latest fashionable gown, to attend parties and balls, to receive the adoration of handsome gentlemen. Oh, yes, she missed those things and was sorry her actions had resulted in those pleasantries being stripped away.

Shallow, unimportant things.

Her selfishness pointed an accusing finger at her.

This was her punishment, her penance. With a force that nearly knocked her off her feet, she understood what the duke had tried to convey to her. Now, she truly understood the horror on his face when they were discovered in an unsavory—but orchestrated—position.

She understood the detachment with which he made his proposal.

As she gazed down at Timothy, understanding flooded her. She remembered how the duke had spoken of his love for the duchess and her love for him, the tenderness in his voice and the light shining in his eyes when he said Margaret’s name. The pleading tone of his voice when he practically begged Priscilla to reconsider and cry off.

Had her wedding to the duke not been interrupted, her selfish actions would have ripped that from them and destroyed any chance of their happiness together.

And she understood that pain. That despair. That longing. The kind of love so deep that it could crush a heart. And she felt a bitter, cold remorse for injuring another.

Yes, it was a fitting punishment for her sins, and she would accept it with as much dignity as she could muster.

Had the duke and duchess shared their love prior to that fateful evening when Priscilla had made such a poor choice? She supposed something that private was none of her affair, but she was certain of one thing. What she had shared with Timothy a mere hour ago had changed her forever. She would never again underestimate the power a physical coupling could hold over a person, and she was grateful she was left with something to comfort her on cold, lonely nights.

During her exile in Lincolnshire, she had watched squirrels gathering nuts in preparation for the winter, their tiny cheeks sometimes comically puffed out. She witnessed them scurry off to hide their treasure in underground burrows, hoarding them in order to have their fill in the desolate, barren months.

To that end, she stood, silently watching Timothy in his peaceful slumber, and committed to memory, each touch, each kiss, every precious moment they shared, knowing she would bring them out and feast upon them in her darkest hours.

Once she drank her fill of him, although it would never be enough, she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet snick. The sound mimicked the cracking of her heart.

* * *

Swish!Timothy stirred at the sound of curtains being thrown open. Bright light flashed against his closed eyelids, casting his vision in a red glow.

“Good morning, sir. Did you have a restful night?” Rivers’ annoyingly cheerful voice asked.

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