Instead, he’d hurt the one person who’d truly believed in him.
Yet even after how horribly he’d hurt her, she still hadn’t taken her revenge. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had shouted her refusal from the rooftops. Actually, he almost wished she would, perhaps it would ease the gnawing guilt twisting his insides.
Why hadn’t she?
That was the question that drove him mad. He’d hurt her. Acted unforgivably. Yet she protected him. Could it be that despite what she’d claimed, she still loved him?
Could he dare to hope?
Of course there was one problem with his theory. If she still loved him, why had she refused him? Clearly, she hadn’t believed his declaration of love. Was that it? Somehow he’d have to find the way to prove it to her. But how?
He murmured his greetings to the men seated at the table, including Rockingham who he would rather have ignored, and proceeded to take a seat in an open chair. A glass of brandy appeared on the table in front of him before he even sat down. The cards materialized in his hands. Play began without thought; the motions instilled by repetition were now practically rote. And completely devoid of pleasure. He’d had enough.
His thoughts must have shown in his expression.
“Cards not to your liking?” Beaufort asked.
“It’s not the cards,” he replied.
He’d been bored and cynical before he met her. Now he was just plain weary. Tired of living the meaningless, dissolute existence he’d so painstakingly perfected. He wanted more.
He wanted her.
Hell, he needed her.
Not for her household management skills, her organization, or to rid his house of alcohol—though those would not be without benefit. He needed her for her confidence and strength, and most of all for her ability to believe in him. No one else had ever cared enough to see what lay beneath the scarred shell.
“Something else bothering you?” Rockingham taunted. “Your conscience perhaps?”
Coventry turned his steely gaze to his friend, surprised by the venom he received in return.
“Coventry doesn’t have a conscience,” Beaufort said with a laugh. The rest of the table joined in.
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Rock.” Coventry tossed down a card carelessly. “Thought you might have other fish to fry… or poach.”
The other man stiffened. His face turned red and his mouth fell into a tight line.
“Yes,” Beaufort interjected, addressing Rockingham. “I thought you’d be at Almack’s pursuing St. Albans’s chit.” The duke sat back and stroked his chin. “Strange. Originally I thought she’d set her cap for Coventry.”
Someone laughed, but Coventry couldn’t tell who it was as his eyes were fixed on Rockingham.
“I fear she was disappointed in that regard,” Rockingham said. Lifting his stare from Coventry he turned to Beaufort. “But I’m confident I can make her forget any unpleasantness from the past.”
Coventry could have slammed his fist into his friend’s smug face. He had no doubt how Rockingham would make her forget. Coventry bit back his scathing retort, doing his best to keep his temper in check. It would do no good to come to blows in Brooks’s. He didn’t want Georgina’s name linked with scandal.
No one else seemed to be aware of the battle brewing between the two old cohorts.
Another gentleman, an older member of the club, frowned. “Yes,” he said to Coventry. “Seems I heard something about you jilting the girl.”
Coventry put down his cards. He’d had enough. He was done hiding behind his vices. He needed her, and he intended to fight for her. To hell with what anyone thought. He knew what would happen, but he realized it no longer mattered. “I’m afraid you’ve heard wrong, Lord Whiting. If anyone was jilted, it was me.”
“What?” the table seemed to say in unison. To a man they stared at him with their eyes wide and mouths open.
“I asked Lady Georgina to marry me and she refused. She might have set her cap for me, but it was only as part of a wager—to see whether she could make me fall in love with her enough to ask for her.” He paused and said unflinchingly, “She won.”
Rockingham looked stunned.
Beaufort moved forward across the table, his face a mask of fury. “What kind of challenge?”
“A girls’ game, nothing more.” Before they could ask any other questions, he stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I believe I’ve had enough.”
Heart pounding, he turned and walked away. He’d done it. In a strange way he felt relieved. He was no longer waiting for Madame Guillotine to fall, he’d taken control. Coventry knew the rumor mill would be buzzing, that he would be the butt of not a few jokes, but he no longer cared. He realized that if he had any chance of getting her back, he would have to start with the truth. This was only the first step.
It was time to wrest control from the demons of his past and clean up the mess he’d made of his life. He’d show her he could change. And maybe, just maybe, she could find it in her heart to forgive him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Gina hadn’t told anyone, so how had this happened? The news of her refusal of Coventry’s offer had spread like wildfire through the ton. Even her father had come to her, and after voicing his displeasure over the wager, he had praised her for her good sense in refusing him. If only he knew. Good sense she could no longer claim.
She’d won the wager, but it was a hollow victory to be sure. How would she be happy when she was so miserable and Coventry had become the laughingstock of the ton? Her own part in an unseemly wager had been largely ignored in favor of Coventry’s predicament.
The door to the morning room opened, and Gina was shocked to see Augusta.
“Augusta, dearest, what a wonderful surprise. I expected you to be home today deep in your preparations for tomorrow.”
Augusta came forward and took her hands, her face a mask of despair. “Is it true, Gina? Did you truly refuse him?”
The moment she’d dreaded had arrived. Gina dropped her hands and looked away, unable to meet her friend’s wounded gaze. “It’s true.”
“And the wager?”
Gina’s breath caught. She forced herself to meet Augusta’s eyes. “That is true as well.”
Augusta’s face crumbled, her eyes a watery tempest of confusion. “How could you? You know how the scandal and gossip surrounding his first wife affected him. How could you humiliate him like this?”
Shame swept over her. How could she make Augusta understand? “I swear to you I had no knowledge of his past when the wager began. It seemed harmless at the time. In time I learned it was too late. Please believe me, I did care for him. I had no intention of any of this ever coming out. I have no idea how it did.”
All of the friendliness had vanished. Augusta’s expression turned hard. In that moment, Gina thought she’d never looked more like her brother. “Have you no idea?”
“None,” Gina replied adamantly. She’d told no one of her refusal—not even Cecelia or Claire. Augusta’s eyes narrowed, challenging. Suddenly, Gina knew. “Coventry? He did this?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Why would he make himself the subject of gossip?”
“Not just gossip, but ridicule,” Augusta corrected. “Did you see The Times yesterday?”
Blood drained from Gina’s face. She had. She hadn’t missed the lampoon of a young woman with a whip taming a lion with a face that looked remarkably like Coventry.
“I thought you cared for him.”
“I did.”
“Then why did you refuse him.”
Apparently, Coventry had not shared everything with his sister. Suddenly, Gina grew defensive under Augusta’s one-sided attack. She understood that Augusta believed her brother had been wronged. But he was not the only one. “You’ll have to ask your brother that question.”
Some of Augusta’s rectitude collapsed. She sighed. “I did. He said you had every right to refuse him, and that I was
not to blame you. He said what had happened was his fault alone. But I cannot believe that.”
Gina remained silent.
“Even if he did something horrible,” Augusta continued. “You are not blameless in this, Gina. Did you do nothing wrong? What of the wager? Did you not use me to get closer to my brother?”
The web of a blush stained her cheeks. “Only for the briefest moment. I liked you instantly, Augusta, and it had nothing to do with your brother. But as you say, I am not without blame.”
“Can you not forgive him?” The question hung in the air between them for a long, uncomfortable moment.
Gina thought of all the flowers, the sweets, secret notes, and small packages that had been delivered to her in secret over the past two weeks—all but the latest returned unopened. She thought of the numerous times he’d called, and she’d refused to see him. Of the famous voice instructor, Monsieur Claude Robert de Rousseau, who’d shown up one day to give private instruction. But she also thought of Wycombe. Of the naked woman on his lap.
He didn’t make love to her…
Stop! It was no excuse. “I can’t.”
“He’s changed, Gina. He’s taken over the management of his estates. He rarely goes to his clubs and he no longer drinks or gambles.”
Her face must have showed her shock.
Augusta smiled. “He has even taken his seat in parliament.”
Gina smiled too. Unable to help feeling pleased to hear that he was accepting his responsibilities—for whatever reasons.
“He’s made himself the butt of society’s jokes for you, Gina. He’s shredded his pride. Pride that he has fought years to reconstruct. Whatever it is that he did, he is paying for it. Is there no compassion in your heart? No room for mistakes?”
Gina felt a prickle of indecision, a knock so gentle it could not be called wavering. She could not forget. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Augusta turned to leave, then reconsidered. “Please, Gina. Try. I know how much he loves you. And I believe you still love him.”
Gina watched Augusta leave, stunned by what she had learned. For the first time in weeks, she felt her chest pound. A tiny ray of sunshine had pierced the icy fortress of her heart. Her hand shook as she slowly reached inside her pocket, carefully pulling out the letter that had arrived through her maid this morning. Taking a deep breath, she opened the seal and began to read.
My dearest love,
Forgive me…
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued. The thaw had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Coventry closed the drawer to his desk with a resounding thud. The bundle of letters safely tucked away. They were all there, returned to his hand unread—except for one. It was the one that gave him hope. His last letter had not been returned. Was it possible (he almost didn’t want to think it) that she could be softening?
A tingle of anticipation wound its way down his spine, lifting his spirit and giving him a burst of energy that he’d been sorely lacking in the past few weeks.
With the end of the season fast approaching, Coventry knew he was running out of time. Two weeks had passed since his announcement at Brooks’s, and he’d held to his vow of reform. It had been far easier than he anticipated. Abstention from his cups had given him a week-long headache, but the effects of that had been lessened by copious amounts of very black coffee. His clubs, he’d hardly missed. Wycombe not at all. He would never go back there—whether she forgave him or not. With war imminent in America, he’d been kept surprisingly busy attending to his newly assumed duties in parliament.
But there would be no thoughts of war today. Today was a day for celebration. The ceremony joining his sister in marriage to Lord Ashley had been conducted in private this morning, but the festivities would go long into the evening. And he hoped, with every fiber of his being, that on a very personal level there would be even more cause for celebration.
Had he succeeded in winning back her affection? He’d tried everything he could think of, but she’d refused all of his grand—and those not-so-grand—gestures.
But she still had not announced an engagement with Rockingham. That had to count for something.
Closing the door to the study behind him, he walked down the stairs to greet his guests, his eyes searching for one guest in particular.
He ignored the whispers that accompanied his appearance, though he noticed that each new day seemed to bring fewer and fewer. The ton’s fickle attention had begun to wane. He did not regret his actions, though it had subjected him to every kind of ridicule imaginable. The sting of humiliation, he found, had dulled. Perhaps his exploits over the past few years had made him used to being the talk of the town. He was also older now and stronger, far better equipped to weather the lash of society’s tongue.
Honesty of emotion, he’d learned, was no cause for embarrassment. If anything, he hoped it would be the source of his redemption.
His heart skipped uncomfortably in his chest when he picked her out in the crowd, trailing regally behind the duke and duchess. Rockingham, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. Heart pounding, he waited for her to notice him, waiting for any sign, the tiniest indication that she may have softened toward him.
He willed her to look at him, and his breath caught with amazement when she did. For an instant, the hum and blurred faces of the crowd disappeared. There was just the two of them, seeing each other for what felt like the very first time. Hungrily, he drank in the very sight of her, gorging on every inch of her beautiful face and lush figure. Blood surged through his veins. He felt alive again.
The intense attraction would always be there, but it paled in comparison to the deeper, far more powerful connection. The connection forged in understanding and love, the clawing need of his soul to claim its other half.
He thought he detected a flicker of indecision before she turned away. His heart fell, disappointment acute. The cold indifference in her expression was gone, but there was nothing in its place to give him reason for hope.
With a heavy heart, he fixed a blank expression on his face and went about attending to his duties as host. He would not ruin his sister’s happiness. For his, he only had himself to blame.
He looked different, Gina thought. Composed, serious, impossibly proud despite what he’d faced the past few weeks. He was as handsome as she remembered, but there were subtle differences—a slight strain around the eyes perhaps, and deeper lines around his mouth. His hair, still a trifle long for fashion, was neatly combed and not the least bit tousled. His cravat, devoid of its usual wrinkles, was flawlessly arranged in a complicated knot that would have made Brummel proud.
Looking at him, Gina felt the maddening tightening of her chest and the not-so-gentle-squeeze of longing that could not be denied. Indifferent, she was not. She could not remain unaffected after reading his note. But was it enough? Could she find the strength to forgive, if not to forget? She didn’t know.
As the evening progressed, she’d begun to think he would not try to speak with her. But he’d only been biding his time. When her father departed to fetch some refreshment, Coventry approached where she stood with the duchess, Augusta, and Lord Ashley.
After the initial greetings, her tongue seemed tied in her mouth. She didn’t know what to say. They stood there as strangers who knew each other intimately. The awkwardness of the situation was painfully obvious to all around them. And to those beyond. It seemed as if the entire room watched with unfettered curiosity.
Thankfully, the duchess engaged Augusta and Lord Ashley in conversation, giving them an opportunity to exchange a few brief words in the relative privacy afforded by a ballroom full of voyeurs.
“You are looking well,” he said.
“As are you.”
Safe. Polite. Meaningless. But under the surface there boiled an enormous undercurrent of emotion hovering just under the edge of civility. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, but she wasn’t yet
sure that she wanted to unleash that Pandora’s box.
“You received my note.”
“I did.”
“And your feelings, am I to assume they are unchanged?”
“I…” She hesitated, about to say, “I don’t know.” But he apparently read her hesitance as a kind attempt to refrain from hurting him further.
“I understand. My feelings have remained unchanged. However, do not worry that I shall trouble you any further. I understand why you cannot accept my proposal.” His voice rang loud and clear. “I hurt the only woman I’ll ever love. Believe me, I’ll regret what I did for the rest of my life.”
Gina gasped, as did quite a few of the people around her. He’d declared his love publicly, without hesitation or embarrassment. She was stunned. She did not doubt the honesty of his feelings. How could she, when he wore them so proudly on his sleeve for all to see? He’d changed. More than she could have believed. But was it enough?
He bowed his head, excused himself, and walked away. Gina was reminded of a general conceding defeat. Wanting to rush to him, and at the same time not knowing whether she should, Gina watched as the wide expanse of shoulders, the straight back, the head held high, disappeared into the hall.
Vacillating, unsure of what to do, her answer came from the most unlikely source. The new duchess of St. Albans, the woman Gina had blamed for usurping her place in her household, turned to her with an expression of deep compassion. It struck her that it was the kind of look her mother would have given her. “You aren’t going to let him leave like that are you?”
“I …”
“Don’t allow your pride to ruin your chances for happiness. You’re a stronger woman than that, Georgina.” She smiled. “One of the strongest women I know. But strength includes the ability to forgive. If I know Coventry, he did something abominable, but is it worth a lifetime without him? Whatever it was he did changed him. It made him realize he loves you.”
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