and freedom. That went to show what a calamity love was.
She’d survived Freddie on willpower alone. Surely she could summon that will to claim the future she wanted. The first step was to move past this hankering for the man she wouldn’t let herself have. At her ball, she’d felt like she had the whole world in the palm of her hand. She could feel like that again. She
would
feel like that again. But only if she took decisive action to seize her destiny.
Enough of this shillyshallying. Her new life started now.
She clenched her hands into fists and shored up her shaky resolution. With one final look at Silas, she silently said farewell to the love they might have shared if she’d been a different woman with a different past.
When Helena returned with a tea tray and Rose, her maid, Caroline already plotted the steps to Lord West’s seduction.
* * *
Silas pounded on the glossy black door to the tall white house in Half Moon Street. It was too late for polite calls—but then, this wasn’t a polite call. The burly night watchman halted on his rounds and raised his lantern. The cove must be shortsighted, because apparently he only saw a well-dressed representative of the upper classes, not a man with violence on his mind. He wished Silas a cheerful good evening and shuffled on his way.
Silas went back to banging on the door until Beddle, West’s butler, appeared. “My lord,” the man said in surprise, briefly forgetting his dignity.
Silas had known Beddle since his days as a junior footman on the Grange estate. He could forgive a little informality. “Is he in?” he barked.
Beddle looked taken aback. “It’s after midnight, sir.” Behind Beddle, lamps lit the elegant black and white entrance hall.
“If he’s out, I’ll wait.” After pacing his rooms until he felt likely to lose his mind, Silas had set out on this impetuous errand to confront West. Hopefully a man who planned a day outdoors might forsake the fleshpots and have an early night. Not to mention reserving his energy for after the picnic when he pleasured a new mistress. That thought stirred the savage beast barely restrained inside Silas.
“Please come in.” Biddle’s magisterial manner returned. “I’ll ascertain if his lordship is at home.”
“I’ll wait in the library,” he said, striding ahead. He knew this house as well as he knew his own. He and West had been friends since childhood. Silas marched into the dark room and flung the curtains open. Behind him, a footman lit the lamps and set the fire.
“Brandy, my lord?” the footman asked.
Silas didn’t turn from the window. “I’ll see to myself, thank you.”
“Very good, sir.” The servant left Silas to brood.
How easily he’d fallen under the spell of his sister’s lovely new friend. He wasn’t a stupid man—even now, with his brain turned to sludge. He’d soon recognized that Caroline Beaumont carried wounds from her marriage. But their immediate affinity had led him to believe that with careful wooing, she’d be his.
What an arrogant coxcomb he’d been. These long months of pursuit, and all he had to show were a scarred heart, some bitter arguments, a couple of kisses more torment than pleasure, and an empty bed.
Reflected in the window he saw a man haggard with love. To escape that disagreeable image, he started to prowl around the library. A stack of correspondence waited on the imposing mahogany desk. Idly, Silas cast his eye across the letters.
What the devil?
His heart crashed to a stop.
Oh, Caro.
You bloody well went and did it.
He almost found himself admiring her audacity. After the confession that West hadn’t kissed her, part of him had assumed that her threat this morning had been bravado.
Like hell it had been bravado.
A man’s correspondence was sacrosanct. In opening that letter on top of the pile, Silas defied every rule of good manners. If anyone discovered what he’d done, he’d be drummed out of society.
Bugger good manners.
She’d survived Freddie on willpower alone. Surely she could summon that will to claim the future she wanted. The first step was to move past this hankering for the man she wouldn’t let herself have. At her ball, she’d felt like she had the whole world in the palm of her hand. She could feel like that again. She
would
feel like that again. But only if she took decisive action to seize her destiny.
Enough of this shillyshallying. Her new life started now.
She clenched her hands into fists and shored up her shaky resolution. With one final look at Silas, she silently said farewell to the love they might have shared if she’d been a different woman with a different past.
When Helena returned with a tea tray and Rose, her maid, Caroline already plotted the steps to Lord West’s seduction.
* * *
Silas pounded on the glossy black door to the tall white house in Half Moon Street. It was too late for polite calls—but then, this wasn’t a polite call. The burly night watchman halted on his rounds and raised his lantern. The cove must be shortsighted, because apparently he only saw a well-dressed representative of the upper classes, not a man with violence on his mind. He wished Silas a cheerful good evening and shuffled on his way.
Silas went back to banging on the door until Beddle, West’s butler, appeared. “My lord,” the man said in surprise, briefly forgetting his dignity.
Silas had known Beddle since his days as a junior footman on the Grange estate. He could forgive a little informality. “Is he in?” he barked.
Beddle looked taken aback. “It’s after midnight, sir.” Behind Beddle, lamps lit the elegant black and white entrance hall.
“If he’s out, I’ll wait.” After pacing his rooms until he felt likely to lose his mind, Silas had set out on this impetuous errand to confront West. Hopefully a man who planned a day outdoors might forsake the fleshpots and have an early night. Not to mention reserving his energy for after the picnic when he pleasured a new mistress. That thought stirred the savage beast barely restrained inside Silas.
“Please come in.” Biddle’s magisterial manner returned. “I’ll ascertain if his lordship is at home.”
“I’ll wait in the library,” he said, striding ahead. He knew this house as well as he knew his own. He and West had been friends since childhood. Silas marched into the dark room and flung the curtains open. Behind him, a footman lit the lamps and set the fire.
“Brandy, my lord?” the footman asked.
Silas didn’t turn from the window. “I’ll see to myself, thank you.”
“Very good, sir.” The servant left Silas to brood.
How easily he’d fallen under the spell of his sister’s lovely new friend. He wasn’t a stupid man—even now, with his brain turned to sludge. He’d soon recognized that Caroline Beaumont carried wounds from her marriage. But their immediate affinity had led him to believe that with careful wooing, she’d be his.
What an arrogant coxcomb he’d been. These long months of pursuit, and all he had to show were a scarred heart, some bitter arguments, a couple of kisses more torment than pleasure, and an empty bed.
Reflected in the window he saw a man haggard with love. To escape that disagreeable image, he started to prowl around the library. A stack of correspondence waited on the imposing mahogany desk. Idly, Silas cast his eye across the letters.
What the devil?
His heart crashed to a stop.
Oh, Caro.
You bloody well went and did it.
He almost found himself admiring her audacity. After the confession that West hadn’t kissed her, part of him had assumed that her threat this morning had been bravado.
Like hell it had been bravado.
A man’s correspondence was sacrosanct. In opening that letter on top of the pile, Silas defied every rule of good manners. If anyone discovered what he’d done, he’d be drummed out of society.
Bugger good manners.
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