Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) (16 page)

Opening her palm, she saw a small square of paper lying there
. She blinked in astonishment.
How strange
.

Abandoning her plate on the buffet, she hurried to the ladies’ retiring room, anxious to see what news the curious missive bore
. Once the door closed behind her, she unfolded the slip of paper with trembling hands. Three words were scrawled in obvious haste.

Rose garden
.
Midnight
.

Perhaps this had something to do with Nickerson and his Miss Adare
–some secret arrangements for an assignation. Or perhaps it was something else altogether. Her heart began to pound in anticipation as her eyes skimmed lower, looking for a signature.
Please, not Clifton
.

And then her heart skipped a beat
.

At the page’s lower right corner, there was a single, elegant letter
.
W
. Her palms dampened as the missive fluttered to the carpet at her feet.

Westfield
.

Chapter 13

This was madness
. Hayden knew it to be so, yet he’d been unable to stop himself from hastily scribbling the note. His own engagement was to be announced at the close of the ball, for God’s sake, and yet here he stood, secretly awaiting another woman among the darkly shadowed, fragrant bushes. He paced between the thorny branches, reaching one hand up to tug at his cravat. The damn thing felt like a noose around his neck.

He retrieved his watch and flipped open the case
. Two minutes till midnight. He snapped it shut again and shoved it back into his pocket. Would she come? He reached down and pinched off one single rose, its velvety petals the same shade of pink as Jane’s lips, and equally as soft. He ran a fingertip lightly along the petals’ rim, deeply inhaling the rich scent as he did so.

“Lord Westfield?”

He spun around in surprise, at once amazed and relieved to find Jane standing there, even if her countenance showed nothing but annoyance. “I asked you to call me Hayden,” he said at last, dropping the blossom to the grassy carpet below.

“And yet you know how inappropriate my doing so would be, Lord Westfield
. Need I remind you that you are a betrothed man? The honor of addressing you so informally belongs to Miss Upshaw, and Miss Upshaw alone.”  Her mouth was set in a hard line, her brow furrowed in obvious irritation. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

“I need to speak with you, nothing more.”

“Then speak quickly. I must return at once before my absence is noticed.”

His well-rehearsed words abandoned him, leaving him momentarily speechless
. This
was
madness, and he should allow her to leave before Nickerson came looking for her. Roaring silently in frustration, he made to return to the ballroom post-haste.

But as he brushed by her, he felt her fingers clutch at his sleeve
. He stopped dead in his tracks and inhaled deeply before turning toward her.

She looked up to him pleadingly, her eyes glowing in the moonlight
. “What did you wish to say? Speak now, and let us end this maddening game.”  Something was different about her gaze, as if a shrouding veil had been lifted from her captivating eyes, and he recognized pain in their depths. Deep, tortured pain–a pain she’d hidden from the world. He was suddenly aware of her suffering, sensing it as if it swirled around her like a dense fog, enveloping her in its shroud.

He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath
. Had he played a part in her suffering? A knife tore through his heart at the thought.

“I fear I’ve treated you badly, Miss Rosemoor,” he said, his voice hoarse
.

She said nothing, but her lower lip trembled perceptibly
.

“I’ve no excuse,” he continued, his heart racing, “except that my judgment clouds in your presence.” 

Still, she said nothing.

He allowed one of his hands to stray to her side, to lightly brush the soft fabric of her skirts with his fingertips
. This gown was so very different from any other he’d seen her wear. It was more virginal, almost fairy-like with delicate silk leaves appliquéd near the hem, even as the fashionably low-cut bodice revealed an ample amount of her breasts. The opaque tulle over the icy satin leant an ethereal look to her fair skin, making the deep color of her eyes even more intense.

She looked like an enchantress
.

“Did you wear this dress tonight to torture me
? It suits you perfectly. Innocent yet sensual, beautiful and intriguing all at once.”

Her eyes narrowed as her cheeks flushed angrily
. “As hard as it might be for you to comprehend it, your tastes do not dictate my choice of gowns. I wore this dress tonight because Mr. Nickerson’s favorite color is blue, if you must know.”  She tipped her chin into the air.

Something inside him snapped
. “Are you in love with him?”

“It’s none of your concern,” she bit out, then spun on her heel
. She took no more than two steps before turning to face him once more. “And what if I am? He’s a gentleman in every respect, more noble than you despite his lack of title. Mr. Nickerson doesn’t try to...to...” she sputtered, “to seduce me, to risk my reputation at every turn. He’s honest and guileless and–”

“No need to go on,” he interrupted, the blood rising in his face
. “I wholly understand.”

“Do you
? Then why are we out here, hidden amongst the shadows, sneaking about like lovers? When will it end? I’ve made it clear that I’ve no wish to marry you and now you’re betrothed to another. You owe me no explanation, Lord Westfield.”

“You say the words convincingly, yet your kiss at the Gardens betrayed you. I felt the desire in your kiss, desire that matches mine.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Your arrogance misleads you. Your kiss caught me unawares, that’s all.”  She dropped her gaze and shrugged. “I confess I was perhaps a bit curious, nothing more.”

He reached for her chin, grasping it between his forefinger and thumb, forcing her gaze to meet his.

“You’re lying. Tell me the truth.”  His eyes scanned her face, witnessing her inner struggle. “You want me. Say it.”  She closed her eyes and shook her head weakly, but he didn’t release her. “Say it,” he commanded in a low growl.      

He tipped her head back, his mouth moving to her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his hungry lips, and it took every ounce of fortitude to tear himself away
. “Say it,” he whispered, refusing to take his eyes off hers.

“I want you,” she murmured, so quietly he barely heard the words
.

Triumph filled his heart, set his blood racing through his veins
. He felt the stirrings of desire in his loins heighten a pitch, the length of him suddenly straining against his trousers.

“I want you,” she repeated, more loudly this time, her gaze boldly meeting his
. “But I will never have you,” she added defiantly. “What would you have me do? Become your mistress? Because I would not–”

“No
. That would never do.” 
Dear God
. That would be just as dangerous as taking her as his wife. More so, perhaps. How could he possibly explain, when he barely understood it himself?

“You’re perhaps the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met
–intelligent, charming, accomplished.”  He swallowed a lump in his throat and reached out to her, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “You are perfection.” 

She turned her head aside, but he saw one glistening, crystal tear trace a path down her cheek
. “Why must you make this more difficult?” she whispered.

“When I offered for you, I was acting rashly, prematurely
. I did not know you well enough to see the threat. Marrying Miss Upshaw is the right thing to do, to protect you, to keep you safe from my curse. I’m a strong man, Jane, but I cannot go through it again.”  His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I simply cannot.”

She shook her head
. “You speak in riddles.”

He reached for her shoulders and pulled her toward him, gazing down into her tortured face, his own contorted with despair
. “I am no longer capable of love. I have no heart to give, and my affections are nothing but a curse to anyone I bestow them on. Nothing but tragedy follows in its wake. You must remain safe from that. That’s why I must marry Miss Upshaw. I asked you to meet me here because I felt you must know my reasons.”  He released her, as if her flesh burned his hands. “Never before has my resolve been tested as you have tested it.”

“We are more alike than you know, then, Hayden,” Jane said quietly, her mouth curved into a mysterious, sad smile
.

So deeply mired was Hayden in his own pain, in his own intensely felt regret, that he didn’t even begin to wonder what Jane meant by those mystifying words until she left him standing there, alone in the pale moonlight
. Sighing heavily, he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced down. Moving one foot aside, he saw the lovely pink bloom he’d held so tenderly, trampled and bruised beneath his boot. With a primal groan, he stormed back inside.

Back to his betrothed
. He reached up to readjust his cravat as he stepped into the ballroom. The noose was tightening.

***

“Jane, dearest, you’re as pale as a ghost. What’s wrong?”  Emily set down her coffee with a frown.

“Am I pale
? I must be tired. I suppose I’m not as young as I once was. I’m finding the Season frightfully exhausting.”  She would never confess that she’d lain awake the better part of the night, painful images from the evening’s ball replaying in her mind, over and over, till she thought she’d surely scream.

Only moments after she’d returned from the rose garden, Lord Pemberton had joyfully announced his daughter’s engagement to Lord Westfield
. Jane had raised her glass with the rest of the guests, gripping Nickerson’s forearm with her other hand as if her life depended on it. Across the length of the room, Hayden’s eyes had met hers over the rim of his flute, and her heart had momentarily stopped beating. The look of longing, of regret, touched her like a physical blow.

‘You are perfection,’ he’d said
. She reached one hand up to her burning cheek at the memory.
Perfection
. No one had ever said such a thing to her. If only he knew the truth–that she was horribly flawed; that madness lurked somewhere within her, simmering, just waiting to rear its ugly head. He was cursed, he’d said. Well, she was equally cursed.

Yet she didn’t quite understand what he meant
. Why ever would he think himself cursed? She turned to Emily, who sat at her side nibbling a piece of toast while she read the latest gossip sheet. Emily had known him her whole life–did she have the answers? Dare she ask?

“Emily?”

“Yes? More coffee?”  Emily reached for the silver pot.

“No, thank you
. I’m a bit, ahem, curious about Lord Westfield’s past. He’s hinted at some tragic history of which I know nothing.”

Emily’s eyes widened with surprise
. “Somehow I thought you knew.”

Jane shook her head
. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”

Emily looked uncertain for only a moment
. “I suppose there’s no harm in speaking of it, especially if he’s hinted at it. Perhaps he thought I’d told you. Well, it all began when his mother died. A miscarriage. He was only a boy, but it’s been said that they brought him in to bid her farewell as she lay on her deathbed, and the poor child witnessed her final moments. And then you’ve heard that he had a sister?”

Jane nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard her mentioned
. She was your friend.” 

“Indeed she was
. Isabel was my dearest friend. She was the sweetest girl one could ever hope to know. She was kind and generous, as unselfish as could be, and blessed with the most endearing, witty sense of humor. But she was sickly and frail from birth–a weak heart.”  Tears gathered in the corners of Emily’s eyes. “Lord Westfield adored her, and she worshiped him in return. He did everything in his power to make her life as comfortable, as happy as possible. I believe that his vigor, his vitality gave her strength. His father insisted, of course, that he go to Oxford, and not two months into his first term, Isabel slipped away.”

“Oh, how dreadful.”  Jane’s heart sank
.

“I’m not certain Lord Westfield ever recovered from her death
. He’s been a changed man since. I fear he holds himself responsible, for having left her.”

“But it wasn’t his fault.”

Emily nodded her agreement. “And then there was Katherine.”

“Katherine?”

“Lady Katherine Holt. They were betrothed as infants, by their parents, yet they grew to love one another on their own accord. I think that, after Isabel’s death, Lord Westfield found comfort in Katherine. It was such a relief, to see him smile again. Their wedding was to be held in Derbyshire, in the rectory at Richmond Park. Guests traveled from near and far, the district filled with a festive atmosphere. And then, just days before their wedding, Lord Westfield accompanied her family to a dinner in Ashbourne, a feast in honor of their upcoming nuptials. Their carriage lost a wheel on the way home and was sent flying over an embankment. Everyone survived, mostly unhurt, except for poor Katherine who was thrown from the conveyance. She broke her neck, I’m told. It was Lord Westfield who retrieved her, and it took several men to pry her broken body from his hands. Quite tragic.” 

“Poor Lord Westfield.”  Jane struggled to grasp the full meaning of his words, and her mind raced to the obvious conclusion
. Did he truly think that everyone he loved would die?

She shuddered at the thought.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” Jane announced, rising on shaking legs.

“So early?”  Emily’s brow furrowed
. “It isn’t even noon.”

“I must get some air at once
. Please excuse me.”  She hastened out the room without a backward glance.