He swallowed and looked away.
Her heart clawed up into her throat. Something was horribly wrong. ‘Tell me, my love.’
‘My darling, it appears my father has spent all of our fortune,’ Evander replied at long last. ‘I’m, as it were, quite poor.’
Lottie frowned, uncertain what that had to do with postponing their elopement. ‘That doesn’t matter. I’ve never had wealth. Being with you was never about improving my station. I want to be your wife out of love.’
‘And what kind of husband would I be to offer you nothing but debt in return?’
The tears blazing in his eyes told her how very much that fortune meant to him—how much a pauper’s life for his new bride would not do. She was nearly ready to protest again that it didn’t matter, when she realised he was also no doubt concerned for the welfare of his family.
‘Your mother and sister?’
He shook his head. ‘My mother has a trust that will see to them both for some time.’
His gaze travelled around the sunny path, taking in the cheerful little stream, the thick forest where he’d laid her in the crackling leaves and claimed her with his love.
Her gown had been stained from the grass and dirt beneath them that day, but she hadn’t cared. It had been a worthy sacrifice for what they had shared then. What was still strong between them now.
‘I would be just as happy living in a cottage with you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps happier, if I’m being entirely honest.’
‘I promised you Huntly Manor so that you would be near your father.’ He ran a hand through his rich auburn hair. ‘I cannot afford it now. I refuse to wed you into a sinking earldom.’ He regarded her earnestly. ‘It should not take long. Perhaps six months. A year at the most.’
Lottie grasped his hand and held onto it as if she might physically keep him there with her. ‘Please don’t do this. Don’t go.’ He had only recently come back into her life. The thought of him gone once more was a visceral ache within her. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
‘I have to.’
He stroked her face with his hand, a tender caress she felt in her soul. ‘I promise I will be back as swiftly as I can, to return to you.’ His finger brushed her ring. ‘To make good on my intent to marry you. Properly. The way you deserve.’
‘Please don’t do this.’
Tension lined his brow. ‘I must.’
Lottie closed her eyes and a hot tear ran down her cheek. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you.’ Evander wiped it away, his touch gentle. ‘I will be home before you can even miss me, to provide you with the life you deserve.’
But that wasn’t true. She missed him the moment he walked away from her on that familiar path that would remind her of him for ever.
And she didn’t stop missing him.
Indeed, the ache of his absence hurt more and more as time went on. Most especially when, mere days later, a carriage accident robbed her of her father and plunged her world into complete darkness.
And she missed Evander with an even greater poignancy when the new vicar moved into the only home she’d ever known and she had no choice but to carve from life whatever future she might forge for herself.
She never stopped missing him, even as time went on and hope faded into a dismal, useless thing.
Chapter Seven
May 1814, Comlongon Castle, Scotland
It was impossible for Lottie to be at Comlongon Castle and not think of Evander—especially when he’d spoken of it so often. Enough that she could see it perfectly in her head, as though she’d been there before herself.
Even if those cherished conversations had happened four years ago.
Many presumed Evander dead at this point, though he hadn’t been declared so legally. For her part, Lottie wavered between grief at the idea of him being gone for ever and pain that he was indeed alive but had long since forgotten her.
Be he lost at sea, or in some remote land she would never walk upon, his absence had been extraordinarily lengthy.
Especially when she had needed him most.
Seeing this castle was an agonising reminder of the man she had loved. Yet she put it all aside for Charles and his new bride Eleanor, now the Duke and Duchess of Somersville by their recent union. Lottie would not ruin such a joyful moment of celebration.
Except Evander wasn’t gone.
He stood before her now, as regal and handsome as he’d ever been. His hair was a little longer, the auburn streaked with gold, his face etched with lines she hadn’t seen before. The brilliant green eyes she’d always loved had lost their sparkle. But then, so too had hers.
Her thoughts splintered in a thousand directions in the room that was filled with fine heavy wood furnishings and stacks of boxes in every corner. A treasure amassed, no doubt.
Disappointment kicked her hard in the heart. He had left her for that treasure. Four long years and not one word. It was a betrayal of the worst kind. Her suffering had been at his expense, and he had been here in Scotland, living in his castle.
She couldn’t even think as her body moved of its own volition, marching past the new Duke and Duchess of Somersville to where he stood. He watched her the way someone might regard a ghost—with fascinated shock. Perhaps that was why he did not move as she reached out to slap him.
Her palm struck his face, the connection as loud and sharp as a gunshot in the stunned silence of the room.
Evander slowly raised his hand to his cheek where she’d hit him. It had been hard enough to redden his skin and leave her palm stinging.
‘Lottie,’ he said, his voice so familiar it dug into her chest like a butcher’s meat hook. ‘I’m so sorry...’
The woman she was before would have felt guilty for striking him. Rather, she never would have slapped him. But she wasn’t that woman any more.
‘You lied to me,’ she said harshly, unleashing all those years of pain. ‘You swore to come back for me and you never did. I waited—’ Her voice caught.
There was more to say. So, so much more. Except that her spirit gave out before she could continue.
Charles flew past her, his arm cocked back with intent. There was no time to stop him before his fist landed on Evander’s face.
Lottie cried out in surprise at this violent outburst.
Eleanor rushed forward and grabbed Charles’s jacket, drawing him back by the scruff as one might have a misbehaving pup. ‘Charles, explain yourself.’
He staggered back, his eyes burning with hatred. ‘He ruined Lottie, Eleanor. She was a vicar’s daughter—a woman with many prospects. Your brother seduced her and abandoned her.’
And there it was—the entirety of Lottie’s social demise laid out like soiled laundry on wash day for all to see and judge. Her eyes prickled with tears but she stiffened her back, steeling her resolve against the power of her emotions. After all, she had withstood far worse.
‘If he hadn’t robbed her of her virtue before her father died,’ Charles continued, red-faced with rage, ‘she wouldn’t have had to—’
‘Charles.’ Lottie put a hand on his arm. ‘I believe this is a conversation I ought to have with the Earl myself rather than see my scandal aired so publicly.’
He glowered at Evander. ‘Very well,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘You and your wife ought to be shown to your rooms.’ Lottie tried to force a smile, but her lips quivered with the effort. ‘You and I can leave this discussion for later. For now, I would like a moment alone with...’ She caught herself before she said his Christian name. ‘...the Earl of Westix.’
Charles’ valet indicated the closed door. ‘Shall I summon the butler to show you to your rooms?’
Charles hesitated, looking uncertain and altogether thoroughly ruffled.
Evander bowed to Charles. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace? I
would very much like to speak to Lottie alone.’
A muscle worked in Charles’ jaw. ‘If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.’
Evander’s flat green eyes found Lottie’s. ‘If I hurt her in such way again, I’ll kill myself.’
‘Evander!’ Eleanor gasped in horror.
But Evander wasn’t looking at his sister. He was still focused on Lottie as he spoke. ‘I have committed many egregious wrongs, sister. And for all of them I’m heartily sorry.’
The butler entered the room and politely asked Charles and his new wife to follow him. This time neither protested, and both finally left the room.
The door to the study clicked closed, confirming the departure of Charles and his new wife. An indication Lottie was now alone with Evander for the first time in four years.
Since he had abandoned her.
She stared at the door for a long time, not wanting to turn her attention back to Evander, too frightened by the onslaught of emotion doing so might elicit.
‘I suppose it is safe to assume you did not receive my letters,’ Evander hedged.
Finally, she turned to him. Hurt welled anew, the way blood beaded on a freshly picked wound. His right cheekbone was red, where Charles had punched him. Another blotch appeared on his opposite cheek, where she had slapped him.
‘What letters?’ Lottie whispered through numb lips.
‘I sent two.’
‘Two?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Two...in four years?’
Evander grimaced, enhancing those new lines on his face. ‘I was rather focused on my task. I meant to send more. Truly, I even wrote several...’ His voice tapered off.
Rage and hurt and confusion roiled through her thoughts like clouds gathering before a powerful storm. After everything she had given up...after what she had lost, he had only bothered to send two letters.
She stepped back as tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when he had so unexpectedly reappeared in her life. There needed to be a moment of reconciliation to allow her mind to fully wrap itself about the understanding of what was happening.
‘Lottie, please.’ He reached for her. ‘I had no idea you’d never received them.’
‘Two letters?’ she said sharply. ‘For all the time I waited. For everything—’
For everything she’d had to become beneath the burden of a woman’s shame while he’d jaunted around the world with a man’s freedom. For the soul-blistering pain of what she had so recently lost.
Her stomach churned with the urge to be sick. She clasped her arms around her middle and drew in a shuddering breath.
‘I had not anticipated my journey would keep me away for so long.’ He stepped towards her and hesitated, as though debating if he ought to reach for her again. ‘I predicted my return to be much more expedient.’
She was tempted to nod as if she understood, to be agreeable in the way women were instructed to be. Except she did not understand.
‘Six months,’ she said, with a clear memory of that long-ago conversation when he’d left. ‘A year at most.’
He winced. ‘Lottie, please forgive me.’ His hand came to rest on her back.
The touch was like a bolt of lightning, cracking through her shock. It ripped away the surprise of seeing him for the first time in four years and left her once more at the mercy of her turbulent sentiments.
Forgive me.
So much pain. So much loss. So much that could never be reclaimed.
‘God, Lottie, please forgive me,’ Evander repeated, in a gentle voice that stoked a memory deep inside her—one that did not want to be coaxed to life.
He had spoken to her gently thus before. When he had loved her.
‘You want my forgiveness?’ A bitter laugh choked her. She was acting like a madwoman, no doubt. Perhaps she ought to care more about how she came across. But she’d cast aside decorum a long time ago. When she’d had nothing left. Nowhere to go.
Evander had asked for her trust and then he had abandoned her. Ruined her. And now he wished for her forgiveness?
Suddenly she did not feel compelled to laugh so much as to cry, to give in to the wild, desperate sorrow that clawed inside her like a beast.
‘I love you, Lottie.’ He held his large hands out, not reaching for her but imploring, the same way his gaze did. His palms, once smooth, were now callused. ‘I’ve never stopped loving you. There’s been no one else this entire time. In heart. In body. There’s only ever been you.’
In body.
She sucked in a pained breath. Where he had been faithful, she had not. But then she hadn’t been able to afford such a luxury as fidelity. Not when her hopes of being a governess in London were dashed with her realisation of the importance of a referral.
She’d had no choice but to become a dancer in the opera. The pay, however, had not been nearly sufficient. She’d managed to make do, but when payment of the physician’s bills became necessary, there was not nearly enough money.
A fresh squeeze of agony gripped her. There had been many offers from men who’d sought to become her protector. She’d held them off for as long as she could. At least until...
‘I did this for us,’ Evander was saying. ‘For our future. So we could marry, so I could provide you with the life you are worthy of.’
The life she was worthy of.
He’d meant his words to soothe her hurt, but he was unintentionally thrusting the blade deeper. Whatever life he had planned for them together, she was no longer eligible for it.
‘It’s later than we had expected, I know, but I have never stopped wanting you as my wife.’ He lowered himself to the carpet on one knee before her and lifted his hands in expectation for her to put her fingers to his. ‘Marry me, Lottie.’
She shook her head, unable even to work a single word into her throat.
‘Please.’ He gestured around the room where he kneeled, indicating the crates and wooden pallets stacked throughout the well-appointed study. ‘I did this for us. For you.’
She shook her head again, her eyes filling with the tears she’d been resolved to keep from him.
‘Good God.’ He pushed up to his feet in a smooth motion. ‘You’re already married, aren’t you?’
‘Who would marry me?’ she asked bitterly. ‘I’m ruined.’
He jerked back as if she had slapped him again. ‘Don’t say such a terrible thing, Lottie. What we did was... It was beautiful.’ Some of the hardness in his eyes softened as he gazed at her with affection. ‘It was love.’
That word was almost laughable. Love. It sat in her mind like a ghost.
‘Perhaps that first time was,’ she replied slowly.
Confusion pulled at his brows. ‘I don’t understand.’
Her heart thundered in her chest like galloping horses over hard-packed dirt. She would hurt him with these words, but he had to hear them.
Two letters. In four years.
Yes, that steeled her resolve.
He frowned. ‘We only ever—’
She lifted her brow and he sucked in a breath.
‘There is someone else, then?’
‘There have been a few,’ she replied levelly.
He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.’
‘In order to survive these four years...’ She squared her shoulders and met his gaze with all the power of her unguarded emotions, letting him see the hurt and the rage and the soul-shaking misery of what she had lost. ‘I had to become a courtesan.’
* * *
Evander stared incredulously at Lottie. Her lovely face remained impassive, her pale blue eyes simmering with what appeared to be a challenge—as if she were daring him to contradict her.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he said as his thoughts tangled around the words that came out of her bea
utiful mouth.
‘You heard me,’ she accused gently.
He nodded in concession. He had. Only he wished he had not.
‘What happened?’ He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his scalp beneath as though it might clear some of the tension from his mind.
‘My father died not long after you left. It was a carriage accident. His death was quite unexpected, as I’m sure you can imagine, considering how hearty and hale he’d always been.’ She looked away and swallowed, clearly pained by the loss even now.
Evander flinched at the enormity of such news. His own father had been a surly man, but Reverend Rossington had cared greatly for Lottie, always ensuring she had all she needed, and praising her accomplishments. He had been the foundation upon which her entire life had been built. And he had kept her from falling apart when her mother died. Well, her father and Charles—but then Charles had been gone as well, on his Grand Tour.
The power of her loss ached in Evander’s chest. Once upon a time he would have been able to curl her into the embrace of his arms and hold her against him to help ease her hurt. Now the stiffness of her shoulders indicated she would not welcome such comfort.
Instead, he hovered awkwardly near her. ‘Lottie, I’m so sorry.’
She turned away, severing any chance of a connection between them and shielding her emotions. ‘My father worked hard to give me a good life—harder than I realised. When he died, there were only enough funds left for me to get by for a while on my own. But...’ She paused and swallowed, giving a slight shake of her head. ‘But there are few jobs to be had for a woman—especially in a village. And, of course, I didn’t plan to marry, as women usually do for security. I had no choice but to go to London for employment.’
Her fingertips moved over the glossy surface of his desk, and she averted her gaze. Purposely, no doubt.
‘There are not many jobs available to a woman at all, as it happens.’ There was an underlying hardness to her tone. ‘Even in London.’
And so she had become a courtesan. A woman who sold her body to the highest bidder.
How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance Page 6