Page 78 of If the Duke Demands

He grimaced painfully. “That wasn’t Downing.”

“Oh?” She looked up at him and blinked, slightly confused. “Then who?”

“That wasn’t Downing,” he repeated firmly instead, hoping the tone of his voice would discourage her from pressing.

She stared at him curiously for a moment, then she shook her head. “I suppose Mr. Downing doesn’t matter now anyway. But I thought—” She caught her breath as a new thought struck her. “Perhaps she left because she was ill. She’d had those headaches…”

“They weren’t serious,” he assured her. Her only headache—and heartache—had been him. “Most likely she was homesick.” And undoubtedly heartsick. Because of him.

Josie shook her head, not accepting that explanation. “Emily said that you stopped by the lecture and spoke with Miranda. Did she say anything to you about being unhappy and wanting to go home? You two have spent quite a bit of time together lately.” Then her eyes narrowed accusingly on him, in the same disbelieving look she gave all her brothers whenever they tried to dissemble with her, ever since the day they’d strung up her dolls for archery practice. “Whatdid you say to her at the lecture?”

“Flowers,” he answered simply, offering nothing more. He loved his sister and hated keeping secrets from her, but he had no intention of sharing with Josie the subtext of that conversation. “We talked about flowers.”

A dubious expression flashed across her face. “Well, youmustknow something about what upset her so,” she pressed. “After all, you two have been in each other’s pockets since she…since she…”

Her eyes widened as the words died in her throat, and she stared at him in knowing disbelief. He could do nothing but soberly return her stare, with certain guilt written on every inch of him, and deserving of both her stunned silence and whatever accusation she would level at him as soon as she found her voice.

Her hand went to her mouth, and she stared at him, eyes wide. “My God, it was you,” she whispered through her fingers. “With Miranda that night at Vauxhall…You’rehim—the man who curled her toes!”

With a roll of his eyes, he cursed beneath his breath.Curled her toes?He’d done a hell of a lot more to her than that. But he found it hard to regret those precious hours with her, even now, although he certainly regretted hurting her.

“You kissed Miranda?” Then her face broke into a thrilled smile, excited at the possibility that her brother and one of her oldest friends might have gotten swept up in the romance of the gardens. “Oh, Sebastian, Ineverwould have—”

She froze, the words choking in her throat. He tensed with solemn dread, waiting for her to make the connection between Miranda not being in her bed this morning and him hunting her down here. For her to comprehend that he’d done more than simply kiss her. He knew the instant she realized it, when her hand fell limp to her side.

Josie stared at him, for a moment speechless. Then, as if pleading for him to prove her wrong, she whispered, “Sebastian?”

He looked at her grimly, remaining silent beneath her utterly bewildered stare. There was no point in denying his culpability in what she knew to be true, and no point in attempting to explain when he knew she wouldn’t understand. He barely understood himself.

“Oh, Sebastian,” she repeated with compassion and sympathy. He thanked God that he didn’t see recrimination in her eyes. “You’re why she left, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered, his shoulders slumping under both the weight of his guilt and the desolation of the loss of her. She’d fled London because she couldn’t bear being near him. And the truth of that was brutal.

“Then you have to go after her!” Urgency pulsed from her, and she reached for his arm to pull him toward the door. “If you ride your horse, you can easily catch up with her by evening and…”

But he didn’t budge from where he stood. She let go of his arm and drew back to stare at him. In that look finally flashed the recrimination he’d been waiting for.

“You have no intention of marrying her,” she accused softly.

“No,” he confirmed, unable to say anything more. The earlier argument with Miranda over marriage had scraped him raw. He didn’t think he could bear it a second time with his sister.

Her look of cutting reproach deepened, even as she reminded him, “But you have to.” She lowered her voice as if she was afraid they’d be overheard, even as they stood alone in the room. “You’veruinedher.”

Her soft accusation tore through him. He answered quietly, his voice hoarse, “I cannot marry her, and you know it. So does she. She’s known that all along.”

He saw understanding fall over her, followed immediately by a grief-stricken expression of sympathy for him and concern for Miranda. To those in theton, Miranda was no better than a barmaid, servant, or shop girl. But he knew better. He knew now how special she was, how fine and regal in her own way. Yet that made no difference in the distance between their stations or who he was expected to marry. No matter how much he cared about her, no matter how happy she made him, she could never be his duchess.

Her eyes softened, glistening with sadness. She rested her hand gently on his arm, still attempting to persuade him as she told him softly, “But if you care about each other—”

“I am a duke,” he snapped out as he turned on her, the frustration and guilt inside him reaching a boiling point. “She is my tenant’s niece and an orphanage manageress. Do you really think she’s what Father had in mind for my wife? Do you?” The impossibility of having Miranda in his life and the loss of happiness he knew she would bring raged through him until he could no longer contain it, and he struck out in his anger. “I made a promise to Father that I would do everything in my power to serve the title well, including finding a proper wife. Can you stand there and honestly tell me that Miranda Hodgkins was the woman he had in mind to be Duchess of Trent?”

Josie gasped at the ferocity of his words and the palpable pain behind them. She slowly drew her hand away as the look of sympathy on her face turned hard, until she stared at him as if he were a stranger.

Immediately, he regretted lashing out at her. Drawing in a jagged breath of remorse, he explained ruefully, “I have no choice, you know that. I have to find a proper bride. Society expects it.” His chest squeezed around his heart so hard that he winced. “And Father insisted on it. When I find the right woman, I’ll marry her. I’ll have a duchess by fall and, God willing, by next year an heir.”

She straightened her spine, her eyes narrowing with disdain. “Congratulations,” she told him icily. “You’ve finally become a true peer. Just as arrogant and cold-hearted as the rest of them.”

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