by Martha Keyes
“Philip.” Ruth’s soft, plaintive voice sounded beside him, and he looked down at her. “I wanted to tell you. I should have told you.”
Philip’s eyebrows drew together, unease filling him at the look on Ruth’s face. “Told me what?”
“Bah!” Munroe said. “Why spoil the fun and let her do it? I shall tell you!” He threw up his hands and shoulders, directing a pitying grimace at Philip. “Your swan has been bamboozling you, Oxley! Playing you false.”
Ruth’s hands clenched Philip’s arm, and she shook her head, but there was desperation in her eyes.
Munroe looked at all the people gathering around, and an unpleasant smile stretched across his lips as he directed himself to the group at large. “Perhaps many of you will recognize this woman before you! She has been masquerading”—he snorted with amusement at his à propos choice of word—“around Town for a month now, dressed as a man. One Mr. Ruth—also known as the Swan—a poor woman who gets paid for giving love advice in a newspaper.”
More murmurs sounded.
“She has been accepting money from unsuspecting gentlemen who haven’t the wherewithal to handle their own affairs—who require the help of someone else to woo women.” He sniggered. “Lord Oxley is one of those men.”
Philip clenched his jaw, and he felt the blood pulsing in his neck, drawing the heat up into his face as his fellows looked on. Was this what Ruth meant she should have told him? That she had been discovered?
“But she has done more than cheat a few fools out of their money. She had other plans—far more ambitious ones! Didn’t you, Miss Hawthorn? Far more than could be gained from helping Oxley or Kirkhouse.”
Ruth swallowed, shaking her head, and Munroe sneered, the light of victory growing in his eyes. “All this time, she was helping her own brother to court Miss Devenish in secret.” He pointed up toward the terrace, and Philip’s eyes followed.
Miss Devenish stood there beside a masked man Philip now recognized as Mr. Hawthorn. They held hands, but Miss Devenish was frowning, her eyes trained on Munroe.
“Yes. And I must applaud the enterprise and vision of your scheme, Miss Hawthorn. Why help Oxley to win Miss Devenish’s hand when you could steal him for yourself—and Miss Devenish for your brother?”
Philip’s head turned slowly to Ruth.
“No, indeed,” she said, and her hand tightened its grip on his. “That is not what it was!”
“Oh, but it was,” Munroe said.
Nausea swirled in Philip’s stomach, his hand sweating in its glove.
“I didn’t know,” Ruth said. “I swear. And nor did Topher. He would never have courted her if he had known it was her you wished to marry.”
Philip blinked and swallowed, but Ruth’s face still oscillated before him strangely.
“Mr. Ruth is a woman? And your sister?” Miss Devenish’s stunned voice wafted down to the gardens.
“Rebecca—”
“And you…you tricked me into loving you?”
“No, I—”
Departing footsteps sounded, followed by Mr. Hawthorn’s pleas.
Ruth reached a hand up to Philip’s face. “Philip. Please let me explain.”
He drew back, letting her hand drop from his and stepping backward as things clicked into place in his mind. Ruth’s acquaintance with Miss Parkham and Mr. Kirkhouse—and their engagement shortly after her arrival in Town. Rumors of Miss Devenish’s secret lover. The strange behavior of both Mr. Hawthorn and Miss Devenish at the card party. “It was your brother?”
Tears sprang to Ruth’s eyes, and she reached a hand out to Philip. “I didn’t know. And when I discovered it, they ended things.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” He took another step backward, remembering the list of lies he had detailed after discovering Ruth was a woman—how he had laughed as if it was a joke.
“I didn’t think it mattered. Topher and Miss Devenish could never be—and you were having such success with her.”
Bile rose in Philip’s throat, and he stepped back again, away from Ruth’s outstretched hand—the one he had been holding but a moment ago. He stumbled as his shoe hit an uneven stone, and he caught himself on the raised wall beside him, gazing dazedly around the gardens.
Pitying faces looked on, some silent, some whispering with their eyes trained on him. He clenched his eyes shut to block out the nightmarish sight.
“Philip, please.”
He froze, jaw clenching at his name on Ruth’s lips. She had made him look a fool—held his hand while he defended her in front of all his acquaintances—defended a person who had been secretly humiliating him.
Had she been using her own tactics against him to make him fall in love with her? He rose up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t let her humiliate him by showing how much the knowledge hurt him.
“Don’t.” He turned on his heel and strode from the courtyard, pushing past a smirking Munroe and into the house.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ruth was vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face as Philip left the gardens. She could feel every pair of eyes on her, hear the blaring din of whispers that shouted everywhere around her.
Munroe clucked his tongue. “Upon my soul, a wicked lie.”
She stared at him for a moment. How had he discovered everything?
Her stomach dropped as she thought on the anonymous visit to the offices of the newspaper. Was Munroe behind that?
Ruth grabbed the mask that lay upon the bench and rushed out of the gardens. She had to make Philip understand. She was a wretch—there was no doubt about that—but she was not the reprobate he thought her. He needed to know that her feelings for him were real, even if he doubted everything else.
As fast as her skirts would allow, she ran after him, pushing through crowds of people until Philip’s dark head of hair appeared before her at the door which led out to Grosvenor Square.
“Philip!”
He didn’t turn but strode through the hastily opened door, disappearing into the night air. The servants made to shut the door behind him.
“Wait,” Ruth said, and they pulled it opened again with slightly raised brows. She hurried past them and down the steps, reaching for Philip’s hand.
He stopped and swung around to face her. His jaw was sharp, his nostrils flared, his fist balled in her hand.
“Please let me explain,” she pleaded.
People newly arrived to the masquerade walked past, curious eyes directed at them through their masks.
“There is nothing to say,” he said, pulling his hand away. “If you are here about your money, I will have it sent around in the morning.” He smiled humorlessly. “You have certainly earned it, haven’t you?”
Her lips trembled, and she rubbed them together to stop it. “I don’t want your money, Philip.”
He raised his brows, but the gesture rang false. “Oh, you don’t? Why? Because you thought you might have more than three hundred pounds if you could have me instead?”
Ruth pulled in a sharp intake of breath, hurt that he had believed something so unsavory about her. “How can you believe Munroe but refuse to listen to me?”
He scoffed and turned fully toward her, folding his arms across his chest. “Tell me, then, Ruth! What did Munroe have wrong? Were your brother and Miss Devenish courting, or were they not?”
She swallowed. “Yes, but—”
He gave a stiff nod. “Did Kirkhouse pay you to assist him with Miss Parkham, despite your assertions that I could trust your discretion?”
“Yes, but—”
“And all this when you assured me that there were no more lies between us?”
She shut her eyes, biting her lip. What could she possibly say to defend herself? She was repulsed by her own behavior. “I was wrong, Philip. I should have told you. And I wanted to.”
“Then why? Why didn’t you?”
She stared at him, chest heaving, trying to decide what to say. She could b
lame it on Topher. She could blame it on her circumstances and the dire need of her family. But at the end of the day, only she could take responsibility for her deceit.
She lifted her shoulders helplessly, and the night air prickled her cheeks where the tears trailed down. “I was afraid of losing you—your friendship. Your respect.”
He scoffed and looked away. “Well, you have lost them. All of them.”
She cast her eyes down, hoping to hide the way his words wounded her. “You have every reason to despise me. And heaven knows I don’t expect you to forgive me. I only came after you because I wanted you to know one thing—to believe it, even if you can believe nothing else.”
She glanced at the passing couple on their way into the townhouse, waiting until they were out of earshot. She would gladly declare her feelings before them—she had no reputation left to salvage. But she didn’t wish to embarrass Philip with such a display—not after all she had already done to him.
“I love you, Philip.” Her voice trembled, and she forced it to stay level as she continued. “You can hate me and think the very worst of me for all I have done—I assure you I never thought myself worthy of your consideration or of my sentiments being reciprocated—but please know that my regard for you has been sure and constant.”
His jaw shifted from side to side, his eyes avoiding hers. “And what reason have I to believe a word you say?”
Her shoulders lifted. “None, I suppose. But it is the truth, all the same. You deserve far better than me, and I have no doubt that you shall have it. But you have all the love in my heart, however little it may be worth to you.”
His gaze finally met hers. “I will send your money first thing in the morning.” He turned on his heel and left.
Philip’s hands shook as he walked away from Ruth, and he fought the desire to look back—to see whether there existed any evidence of her words on her face. It was weakness, and he hated that he cared—that, even amidst his anger and humiliation, the hurt in her eyes struck a chord in him. He had tied himself to her in a way that refused to be broken. His heart didn’t want to believe what even Ruth had admitted was true—she had duped him. Again. She had pretended to help him, to be a friend to him, while the entire time, she’d had her own interests at heart.
And he had almost asked her to marry him.
Emotion rose in his throat, and he forced it back down, kicking at a bunch of flowers in a patch of grass in Grosvenor Square. He was no different than he had been twenty-five years ago—a pathetic little boy, desperate for the love of a woman who cared nothing for him.
When he arrived in Brook Street, he told Draper to inform Nash that he didn’t require his assistance. He wanted to be alone.
At the foot of the stairs, he turned back to the butler. “Draper. In the morning, have three hundred pounds sent to my uncle’s house in Upper Brook Street. You can wrap it in one of the papers on my desk and have one of the footmen take it.”
The butler nodded. “Shall I write anything to go with it, my lord?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” He hesitated for a moment, frowning and putting a hand to his temple. “And have some brandy sent to my bedchamber.” He turned back to the stairs and undid the knot at his throat as he scaled them, tugging at the fabric until it came free of his neck then setting to the button at his throat.
Once he was in the silence of his dressing room, he tossed his mask and cravat onto the chair and sat to remove his shoes, eying the mask with a lump in his throat. He had thought removing Ruth’s mask would help him see her clearly. What a fool he had been.
A servant entered, holding a tray upon which sat a full decanter of brandy. Philip thanked him with a nod of the head and reached for the crystal bottle and the empty glass beside it. He had a feeling it was the only way he would get any sleep.
Ruth didn’t stand there long, watching Philip stride toward his lodgings in Brook Street as the summer breeze ruffled her hair and licked at her wet cheeks.
She knew a lost cause when she saw it. And her cause with Philip had been lost from the beginning.
Even if she had told him before—told him when she had discovered Topher’s secret—it would have changed little. Their weak bond at that time would have snapped easily under such strain, just as the stronger one they’d developed had snapped under the weight of tonight’s discovery.
Her hand stole to her lips. At least if she had told him before, she wouldn’t be forever haunted by that kiss.
It had only been fifteen minutes since it had happened, but it might as well have been fifteen years for how distant and unobtainable it was now.
“Miss…Franks…or Hawthorn! Oh, whatever you are to be called!” Mrs. Barham took the three steps down from the Walthams’ townhouse and came to Ruth, inspecting her with a grim look. She put an arm about Ruth’s shoulders and attempted to guide her back toward the house. “Come, my dear.”
But Ruth didn’t budge. She wiped the tears on her face with the back of her gloves and shook her head. “No. Thank you, Mrs. Barham, but I am going home.”
“I shall escort you there, then. Let me just call for the carriage to be brought around.”
“No. I appreciate your kindness, but it is unnecessary.”
Mrs. Barham stepped back and looked at Ruth with a frown. “I am your chaperone for the evening, my dear. What kind of a chaperone would I be to let you walk home in the dark?”
“It is but a street away and well-lit. The walk will do me good.”
“That may be, but I must insist. I don’t mind a good scandal, but danger is another thing entirely. Philip entrusted you into my care, and in my care you shall remain.”
Ruth took a step backward, toward Upper Brook Street. “I have no desire to taint you by association with me—any more than I have already.”
Mrs. Barham laughed. “Fustian nonsense, my dear! I live to be tainted. But if you insist upon walking home, I shall accompany you.” She directed the nearest servant to have her carriage sent to Upper Brook Street and took Ruth by the arm.
Ruth hadn’t the energy to resist any more than she already had. It was a short walk, at least.
“Now, my dear,” said Mrs. Barham as they made their way slowly across the square. “Tell me what all this is about.”
The small distance that lay between the Walthams’ and Upper Brook Street took nearly half an hour to cover at the pace Mrs. Barham prescribed. Her firm hand guided them around Grosvenor Square twice before allowing any more progress toward their destination, and while Ruth had been reluctant to speak of her troubles, she found the prospect of explaining herself too appealing to resist for long.
For so long, she had held things inside, and if Philip wouldn’t hear her, at least someone could understand her heart—someone could listen as she confessed her wrongs and clarified the intention behind them.
Mrs. Barham listened without a word, only nodding her head and pursing her lips from time to time, and when they finally set foot in front of Upper Brook Street, she turned toward Ruth with a sigh.
“Well, my dear.” She put a hand on Ruth’s arm. “It is a coil indeed, and I cannot say that I am certain it will all unravel as you or I might wish for it to.” She rubbed Ruth’s arm softly, a sad smile on her lips. “My nephew couldn’t do better for himself than to marry you, in my opinion. But unfortunately, the Trents have always been lamentably concerned with the opinion of Society. And while he is better than his family on the whole, Philip is still a Trent. I think within a few days, you will know whether or not he intends to go the Trent way or to make his own path.”
Ruth had no intention of remaining in Town to see whether Mrs. Barham knew of what she spoke. It was impossible for various reasons, not least of which was how unbearable Ruth would find such suspense. She had no expectation of Philip’s opinion of her changing. She was the antithesis of what Philip needed. And as for what he wanted? Well, he didn’t want her now that he knew the truth about her. She had always known that.
“Get some sleep, child. Things look much less dreary in the light of the morning, I have found.”
Chapter Forty
Philip’s sheets were in an unmanageable twist when he woke in the morning, his feet bound up in a knot that evidenced how much he had tossed and turned all night.
Bleary-eyed, he reached for the pocket watch on the bedside table, blinking as he tried to read the hands. Ten o’clock. He sat up with a jolt. He hadn’t slept anywhere near so late in recent memory.
The money would have already been delivered to Ruth by now. And if he knew her at all—a fact he admittedly doubted after last night—she was likely gone already, traveling home. His heart throbbed, and he put a hand to his chest. How long would it take for it to catch up with what his mind knew?
The door opened, and Nash entered.
Philip rubbed his eyes and reached to undo the tangle at his feet. “What do you mean, allowing me to sleep so late?”
Nash set a breakfast tray beside Philip and cleared his throat. “I attempted to wake you earlier, my lord, but thought better of it after the threats you made.”
Philip fiddled with the sheets then threw up his hands in annoyance with a muttered oath.
“Allow me, sir,” said Nash. With maddening calm, the valet set to undoing the night’s work, freeing Philip’s feet in a matter of seconds. “By the by, sir, Mr. Finmore is below stairs. He insisted that you wouldn’t mind him coming up unannounced, but I managed to forestall him. Shall I turn him away?”
“You could try, but there is little chance of him listening to you.” Philip pulled the breakfast tray onto the bed.
“I thought as much, sir.”
“Send him up. And you might as well send up another tray as well. If I know Finmore, he’s expecting to be fed.”
Philip had little desire to discuss the night’s occurrences with Finmore—or anyone—but he knew his friend enough to know it was useless to keep him from his purpose, whatever it might be.