Page 57 of How to Tempt a Duke

“I see.” She lifted her chin in the haughty tilt she’d worn when he’d first met her. “You may keep the journals. You’ve earned them. Farewell, Your Grace.”

She nodded her head politely, as was due his station, and opened the door, leaving the room.

Charles watched her departure, as he had most nights, and felt his heart twist under the duress of his shame.

Lottie appeared in the doorway and pushed shut the door behind her. “How dare you?”

Her voice shook and her glare skewered into his soul. She marched toward him and her silken skirt kicked out in angry thrusts.

“How dare you, Charles Pemberton?”

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, she pulled back her arm and her fist connected with his cheek.

He swallowed down the assault. It was deserved. His cheek stung.

“That was quite a hit, Lottie. Have you taken up boxing?”

“Do not jest with me.” Her eyes flashed with a murderous rage. “How dare you do this to her? I care for her and you’ve left her ruined.”

He reached for her. “You don’t understand. I didn’t—”

“You don’t understand,” Lottie hissed. “You’ve made her like me, Charles. You’ve ruined her life. Such a promising young woman...” She turned away and a sob choked out of her. “You’ve made her damaged...like me.” Her slender back rounded and she cried with all the force of a broken heart.

But her heart was not the only one to break, for Charles’s had surely shattered into a thousand pieces at witnessing such hurt in his childhood friend.

One step had him at her side. He put his arms around her and held her, even when she tried to tug away. “She was not compromised,” he said insistently. “Our actions were certainly improper, but I assure you her innocence is thoroughly intact.”

“Oh, Charles.” Lottie turned into him and sobbed against his chest.

He held her in place and patiently waited for her tears to ebb. At last they did, and she accepted the handkerchief he offered.

She dabbed her cheeks and regarded him with tear-spiked lashes. “It’s for the best this way...letting her go. You could never marry her.”

Charles gritted his teeth, hating how very correct Lottie’s cutting words were. If he married Eleanor it would be a destined failure. If she remained in London while he traveled she would be miserable, and if he were made to forgo his travels he would be miserable.

He needed travel like air to his lungs. It pumped in his veins and brought light to his world. The first time he’d stepped off a ship...the first time he’d glimpsed what he had only read about before...the powerful force that made him feel that much closer to his father... It was an exhilaration he could never sacrifice.

A marriage between them could never be right.

Damn Lottie and her valid statement. And damn how much it piqued his ire.

“And how will she be better off with Devonington?”

“She will never love him.” Lottie sighed. “So at the very least our sweet Eleanor will not suffer a broken heart.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Charles alone with the weight of his own guilt and the echo of the painful truth.

The wait for Eleanor’s hackney took the better part of what seemed like a lifetime. She stood stiffly, beneath the protection of her domino, wig and mask, hoping they were enough of a shield to blanket her mortification.

This was the price of wantonness.

Lottie had come to speak with her once Eleanor had disguised herself and begun waiting for her carriage. Their conversation had been brief, yet poignant enough to play out continually through Eleanor’s mind.

She had tried to tell Lottie it had been her fault—which indeed it had been, shameful as it was to confess. Lottie had cast aside her admission with the counter that Charles had known well enough what he was doing and ought to have been in control of his person enough to decline her encouragement.

But it was more than just their conversation—it was Lottie’s warning which resided in Eleanor’s chest with all the comfort of a sharp stone.

Charles will never give up his travels...not even for you.