Lucy scrunched up her nose. “But you wanted the Duke of Branville. And you intended to drug him.”
Delilah groaned. “That was a mistake, and honestly, I don’t think I ever really wanted Branville. I want Thomas, but I can’t have Thomas because he’s … Thomas. But more importantly because I tricked him into loving me.”
Lucy added another lump of sugar to her cup and stirred it daintily with a tiny silver spoon. “You cannot possibly think you should marry Clarence Hilton.”
Delilah paused and slid her slippers against the floor. “No, of course not, but that doesn’t mean I should marry Thomas. There are more than two men in this world.”
Lucy tapped her cheek. “I don’t see what the problem is, dear. I suppose we could try to find a third man, but it seems quite a tight schedule, given your marriage is planned for less than a fortnight from now.”
Delilah made her way to the settee where her friend sat and lowered herself to sit beside her. “I don’t want another man. I want Thomas. At least I think I want Thomas.” She cradled her head in her hands. “Oh, why is this all so confusing?”
Lucy pulled the silver spoon from her teacup and set it on a nearby napkin. “You’re making no sense, dear, and that’s coming from someone who is often told by others that she’s making no sense. If you want Thomas, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have him.”
“Haven’t you been listening? Thomas doesn’t truly love me.”
Lucy arched a brow and expelled a long breath. “Wait. I admit it’s not usually my way, dear, but perhaps we should look at this predicament logically. Does Thomas meet your criteria? Your list, I mean.”
Delilah froze and blinked. “I’ve never considered it before.”
Lucy nodded. “What are the qualities, dear? Remind me.”
In all the confusion over the past weeks, Delilah had completely forgotten about her list of future-husband qualities. But Lucy was entirely right. She could indeed apply the list to Thomas. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Thomas is eligible, kind, intelligent, funny, healthy.” She cleared her throat. “And I’ve recently discovered he’s quite handsome and kissable.”
Lucy lifted her teacup to her lips. “Sounds perfect to me. He’s also fiercely loyal to those in his inner circle, dear. You are both quite alike that way.”
“But he loves me because I drugged him,” Delilah answered miserably.
Lucy tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps.”
Delilah winced. “There’s one more quality on my list that I didn’t mention.”
Lucy pointed her nose in the air. “What is it, dear?”
Delilah swallowed. “Forgiving.”
Lucy took a sip of tea. “You know what I always say, dear.”
“Be bold,” Delilah said in a voice that was anything but.
“That’s right. So what do you intend to do?”
Delilah smoothed her skirts and rose from her seat. “I need to make this right.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The carriage pulled to a stop on Lombard Street in the pouring rain. The coachman opened the door for Delilah, but she didn’t wait for him to pull down the stairs. She nearly jumped into his arms, forcing him to lower her to the muddy ground. She lifted her skirts and rushed down the street, mud splattering her stockings and gown. Her hair melted into her eyes, and she swiped it away with one hand, but she kept running until she made it past the little white gate and stood before the green front door to Madame Rosa’s shop.
She knocked heavily, but didn’t wait for an answer. She pushed open the door and lunged inside, breathing heavily, heart hammering, hair plastered to her head. She glanced around the darkened, sweet-smelling shop. A few candles burned here and there, illuminating the space enough for her to see that Madame Rosa sat at the little table in front of her perfume vials. The old woman looked up at Delilah, but didn’t appear to think anything out of the ordinary about a young lady arriving wet and muddy on her doorstep.
“Madame Rosa,” Delilah called.
“Come and sit, lass,” the old lady said. “I’ll get ye some tea.”
She stood slowly and, using her cane, shuffled off behind a curtain in the back of the shop. When she returned, she held a teacup in her free hand and had a shawl slung over her shoulder. She resumed her seat and propped her cane against the side of the table before handing the teacup and the shawl to Delilah, who had settled onto one of the rickety wooden chairs in front of Madame’s table.
“Ye’ve come again,” Madame Rosa said, her eyes searching Delilah’s face.
Delilah pulled the shawl around her shoulders to keep herself from shivering and took a tentative sip of the strong herbal tea. “You remember me?”
“Of course I remember ye, lass. Ye wanted ta reverse the effects of Cupid’s Elixir.”
Delilah nodded. “You told me it couldn’t be done.”
“And so it cannot,” the old woman replied.
“There must be something, Madame Rosa. Some way to fix it.” Tears choked Delilah’s voice. “Something I can do.”
Madame Rosa’s eyes filled with sympathy. She reached out and patted Delilah’s hand. “Tell me, lass. What happened?”
Delilah forced herself to take another calming sip of tea. “I sprinkled the potion on the wrong man’s eyes. When he awoke, he told me he was in love with me. Since then, I’ve come to love him too. Only I refuse to marry him if he only loves me because of the potion. I cannot live a lie.”
Madame Rosa’s eyes narrowed, and she reached out one hand. “Let me see yer palm again, lass.”
Delilah pulled off her glove and offered her hand. Madame Rosa extracted the looking glass from the drawer as she had the first time Delilah visited. She cradled Delilah’s hand and examined her palm carefully. “Ah, yes, I remember this hand.”
“You said true love was in my future.”
“And so it is. That is why I sold ye the elixir to begin with … because ye were worthy of it. Yer palm told me so.”
“What does that mean?” Delilah shook her head. “What can I do to fix this?”
Madame sighed heavily and stared off into the darkness. “I suppose in this instance, there is one thing ye can do.”
Delilah lurched forward, desperate hope clawing at her insides. “What? Tell me.”
“Ye’re not going to like it, lass.”
Delilah grasped both of Madame Rosa’s warm hands. “I’ll do anything. Tell me. Please.”
“If ye truly love him,” the old woman said, meeting her gaze with steady eyes that seemed to blaze with the fire of truth, “ye must let him go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thomas threw a pebble at her window like he had a hundred times before. And like he had a hundred times before, he waited with bated breath to see if Delilah had heard him and would lift the pane.
He was about to toss another pebble when her shadow appeared in front of the glass. She pulled open the window and stared down at him, her shoulders filling the space. She was wearing her night rail, and her hair streamed past her shoulders. Worry lined her features. “Thomas. Shh. Mère’s still awake.” She glanced back over her shoulder.
“Can you come down?” He cupped his hands over his mouth so she might hear his whispered words.
She glanced behind her again. “Give me a minute.”
The window closed again before it reopened a few minutes later, and Delilah, wearing a dressing gown over her night rail and her hair hastily made into a bun on the back of her head, stuck out her foot and began climbing down the trellis as she’d done a hundred times before. Her bedchamber’s window faced the back of the house and the darkened gardens, so they wouldn’t be seen from the street. Thankfully, Lady Vanessa’s bedchamber was on the other side of the house, a fact that had always been conducive to their late-night talks.
Delilah nimbly climbed all the way down and hopped off into the grass, and Thomas was filled with nostalgia for a girl who was always game to do things like climb trell
ises regardless of the way she tended to rip her stockings in the process.
“How are your stockings?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m not wearing any at the moment,” she admitted before her face turned serious and she eyed him warily. “What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you.” The fact was he’d nearly gone mad these past nights without her. After their trip to Vauxhall Gardens, he’d taken her home. They’d barely spoken two words to each other on the journey. He had no idea if she was angry with him for what they’d done. Did she regret it? How did she feel? He had to know. That had been over a sennight ago. Each time he’d asked to see her since, she’d made some excuse about how busy she was. Tonight, he’d had enough of her putting him off. They needed to have this out, once and for all. There was no time left.
“I’m supposed to be getting married the morning after next,” Delilah said, her voice devoid of all emotion.
“That’s why I’m here.” He grasped both of her hands and found them chilled. “Run away with me, Delilah. It’s our last chance.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed up into his face. “Run away with you?” she echoed.
“Yes. To Scotland. We’ll go to Gretna Green. Your mother won’t fight us after she knows we’re married. She won’t want the scandal.”
Delilah glanced back up at the looming town house. She gently pulled her hands from his and crossed her arms over her chest. “Mère won’t let me go that easily.”
“She will when I tell her that I’ll settle twice the sum of your dowry on her if she does,” he replied resolutely.
* * *
Delilah sucked in her breath. She suspected that might do it, actually. Perhaps Mother would be swayed by the figure. Lord Hilton no doubt would be. Her throat ached. Thomas would do that for her? He’d pay a fortune to have her. Because she’d drugged him. That’s what made it so wrong.
But even if she told her mother that she would not marry Clarence, it didn’t matter because Delilah couldn’t marry Thomas either. She wanted him, but only if he met her at the altar with a heart full of love born of years of friendship and natural, life-given adoration. Madame Rosa’s words rang in her ears. If you truly love him, you must let him go.
She would do it. She owed it to him. But first, she had to tell him the truth.
She sought his hand and curled her fingers around it, even now unable to keep from touching him in this, the last moments before everything changed between them forever. “Thomas, you must listen to me. The night at Lucy’s country house. The night of my birthday. I told you I didn’t use the potion on Branville.”
Thomas searched her face. “Yes, I know.”
“But I did use it.” She paused to take a breath. “On you.”
He rubbed a hand across his brow and shook his head. “The blasted potion? Is that what this is all still about? Who cares about the potion? I love you, Delilah, and my love for you has nothing to do with that idiotic potion. Run away with me.”
If you truly love him, you must let him go.
“I can’t, Thomas.” Tears gathered on her lashes. “I cannot. Please don’t ask me to again.”
“This isn’t about my feelings anymore, is it?” He clenched a fist and braced his arm against the brick wall behind her. “Is it because you don’t love me? Is that it?” His voice was accusatory, harsh, a tone she’d rarely heard from him, even at the worst of times.
If you truly love him, you must let him go.
“I love you as a friend, Thomas. I always will.” There. That would have to do because she couldn’t say more than that. It nearly broke her to say those words. She couldn’t even look him in the eye.
“You don’t want to marry me? You’d rather marry Clarence Hilton?” He spat the words.
She clenched her jaw. This was excruciating. But it was also what she deserved after what she’d done. “I won’t marry Clarence,” she said. “But I also won’t marry you. I cannot allow you to save me. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
He turned from her, facing the darkness as if he could no longer bear the sight of her. “Don’t do this to us, Delilah,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, Thomas. Please. Go.” And then she could speak no more. Grief had stolen her words. When she managed to swallow the sobs shaking through her and dashed the tears from her eyes, Thomas was gone. And Delilah had never been more alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Delilah had been waiting in Lucy’s salon for the better part of half an hour when Derek entered the room alone. She blinked at him and started. “Is Lucy all right?”
She had expected to spend the afternoon before her supposed wedding discussing with Lucy what she should do. She intended to cry off, of course, but it was certain to be a difficult feat, and Delilah expected both her mother and Lord Hilton to take the news very, very poorly. She would need a place to stay if her mother forced her from her home.
“Lucy is well,” Derek replied. “But she’s not here at the moment.”
Delilah frowned. “I don’t understand. I received a message asking me to meet her here.”
“I know,” Derek said. “I sent the message.”
Delilah crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the duke. None of it made any sense.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to her to follow him. “Come with me.”
She followed him out into the corridor, across the foyer, and down another corridor until they came to two large doors. Derek opened them, revealing his spacious wood-lined study.
The moment she entered the room, Delilah sucked in her breath. They were not alone. Julian Swift was there. And Garrett Upton. Christian Berkeley and Rafe and Cade Cavendish. The men all stood or sat around the room in various states of relaxation. Most of them had drinks in their hands. Delilah’s startled gaze flew back to Derek.
“Usually we do this at the Curious Goat Inn,” he began, “and unfortunately for us, it’s usually a man we’re having to talk sense into. But in this case, Huntley seems to have his head on perfectly correctly. It’s you we’re worried about.”
Delilah turned in a wide circle and nodded at each of them. “What do you mean?”
Derek walked over to his desk and offered her one of the seats in front of it. She stiffly perched on its edge, while he took his seat behind the desk. “Our wives are known for their matchmaking skills, but it seems their husbands aren’t too bad at it either. We’re here to tell you that you need to admit to Huntley you love him.”
Delilah’s gaze trailed about the room, stopping on each of the handsome, friendly male faces of her friends. “How do all of you know I love Thomas?” She blinked at them.
Julian inclined his head. “It’s obvious, Delilah. We’ve all known you and Thomas were meant for each other for years. You’re never happier than when you’re together, and you make an adorable couple, I might add.”
Delilah shook her head. “You don’t understand. There are other things to consider. My mother—”
Garrett cleared his throat. “With all due respect, your mother is a wasp.”
“She’s worse than a wasp. She’s a shrew,” Rafe replied.
“I think that’s an insult to shrews,” Cade added.
“Whatever she is,” Derek continued, “she doesn’t deserve you as a daughter, and she never has. Lucy has told me the things she’s said and done to you over the years.”
Tears filled Delilah eyes. These men, these kind, loyal men, all cared enough about her to come here, to tell her how they felt, to make her see reason.
“We understand the importance of family,” Julian said, “but when family treats you as poorly as your mother has treated you, you owe her no loyalty.”
Confused, Delilah glanced at Derek.
“It’s true,” Derek replied. “I hate to tell you something so awful, but your mother wants to marry you to Clarence so that she and Hilton can keep your dowry for themselves.”
“If that’s not a horr
ible thing for a mother to do, I don’t know what is,” Garrett breathed.
“It’s true,” Rafe added, and Delilah’s confused gaze flew to her cousin’s face.
Rafe took a deep breath. “I sent my friends Mark Grimaldi and Daffin Oakleaf to Hilton’s club the other night. They bought him a few drinks and asked a few questions. Hilton admitted it to them. Seems he’s been hurting for money lately after a series of poor business ventures. I did some investigating on my own and apparently, the money your father set aside for your mother would return to the estate upon her marriage.”
Delilah took a long shaky breath. The truth was painful to hear, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. She’d wondered why Mother had been so adamant for a match with Clarence when Thomas had a better title and more money. She had suspected Mother wanted to keep her dowry, but she hadn’t allowed herself to fully believe it until this moment. She could just imagine Hilton, imbibing too much and bragging about the small fortune he stood to inherit once he was married to her mother and Delilah was married to his son. It made her sick.
“But that’s not the only problem,” she said miserably. “Thomas doesn’t love me that way. He only thinks he does.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Derek leaned forward to meet her eyes. “Huntley switched rooms with Branville the night of the play. He knew you had that ridiculous elixir, and he knew you intended to use it. He wanted you to use it on him.”
Delilah hand fell to her lap. She felt as if she’d swallowed a brick. “What?”
“That’s right.” Derek nodded.
“But why?” She searched the duke’s face, wildly confused. The blood drained from her cheeks only to fill anew with heat.
“Because he was already madly in love with you, you daft girl,” Derek said with a smile that belied his words. “He only needed a reason to be able to tell you.”
Delilah clapped a hand over her mouth. “No.” She shook her head. This couldn’t be true. Could it?
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