Page 95 of Make Mine a Marquess

Phoebe hiccupped then felt the blood drain from her face. “I overheard it.”

“When?”

“The day before we departed. Landon and Willard had a confrontation outside my bedchamber.”

Beatrice was quick to catch on. “I see. It must have been very late. The performance lasted until midnight.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Phoebe said.

“I didn’t suggest you were.”

A second passed, then two, then Phoebe started crying hard once again. “I fell for the marquess. We spent the night together…again. I cannot be trusted around a handsome, charming man.”

“Why? Maybe he loves you, too.”

Phoebe shook her head. Her friend had no idea of Landon’s true malicious intentions. Love had never been one of them. “No, no. You misunderstand. Afterward, I woke to find that he’d left. I thought to find him, but then I overheard him arguing with Willard in the hall. Landon admitted to using me simply as a means of revenge against his cousin. He knew all along of Willard’s treachery and had been seeking the best way to destroy him. He and Aram enticed Willard into debt. But worst of all, he had planned to seduce me and my rich dowry from beneath Willard’s nose. All the afternoons playing backgammon were a way to gain my trust. And the afternoon helping the women in Sarah Smith’s home was a way to get into my good graces.”

Beatrice stared in shock, and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Phoebe.”

Phoebe wrapped her arms around her stomach in despair. “It was all a lie. And I’ve despised liars for so long. I’ve vowed to avoid them like the plague. There is weakness within me, Beatrice. Not only do I attract bad men, but I fall for their traps.”

“You are heartbroken,” Beatrice said.

“I am.” Phoebe sniffled. “Willard is sitting in a prison cell awaiting trial and justice will be served. Landon deserves punishment for the way he treated me, but I’ll never be able to get my own form of justice.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I find it hard to believe all his feelings for you were untrue.”

She scoffed. “Like I said, he is a skilled liar.”

“No,” her friend said. “I saw the way Landon looked at you. He hid it well, but when no one was looking and he thought it safe to gaze upon you, his desire was unmistakable.”

“Desire, perhaps. True love, never.” Phoebe’s heart lurched in her chest. She understood lust all too well. She recalled every heated glance, every sidelong look. Her memories had haunted her for days, hours, and her despair was as painful as hot coals. “I never want to see him again.”

Beatrice bit her lower lip. “That may be impossible. The Season isn’t over. And there is next year and every year thereafter.”

A heaviness like an anvil settled upon Phoebe’s shoulders. How would she survive? How could she be in the same ballroom with him? On the same continent?

“You are one of the strongest people I know,” Beatrice said. “You will survive this just like you survived Philip’s abandonment when we were younger.”

“That was different,” Phoebe said.

“How?”

Because she’d loved Landon differently. It was the love of a woman and not a young girl. She’d spent much more time with the marquess. She’d admired his strength and his will to survive, his intelligence, his humor, his sense of responsibility toward the less fortunate in the village. She’d fallen in love with the man, not just his appearance. She’d thought she’d come to know him—his past, his concern for his tenants and servants, his plans for the future.

In hindsight, she’d been fooled in the worst way.

Phoebe smoothed her skirts, trying desperately to calm her rioting emotions. “I have an aunt in Scotland. She’s written to my mother on numerous occasions seeking my companionship. I’ve never considered her offer in the past, thinking I’d marry and start a life here.”

Beatrice eyed her with a critical squint. “Don’t even think of running away.”

Phoebe grew tense and her fingers began twisting her skirts instead of smoothing them. “It’s not running but soul searching until I decide what’s best for myself.”

“It’s still running. And you shouldn’t have to.” Beatrice clutched her hand. “You did nothing wrong. What’s best is to move on. Don’t let the marquess ruin you.”

“And what if I pass by him on Bond Street?” Just the thought made her stomach drop. Despite everything, her heart was a traitorous organ and had a will of its own. Despite everything, she still loved him.

She also hated him.