Page 49 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘I’d like to come to you tomorrow.’ Hidden by the bulk of his jacket, his hand slid into hers.

‘Please don’t,’ she whispered.

His heart fell. So they were back to that again.

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘I want to help—’

She spun on him, ripping her hand from his. ‘You can never undo the past. No matter how much you wish to. I can’t do this, Evander.’

Her carriage pulled up then, and the footman rushed to open the door. She climbed in, her frame small as she huddled beneath his jacket, appearing very much like the fragile woman Charles had claimed her to be the night of Evander’s birthday ball.

Except Evander hadn’t listened to him. And, damn it, he still wouldn’t.

He would go to her tomorrow, when she was in a better frame of mind. She might be faltering in her hope of their future together, but he had enough faith for both of them, and he would never, never lose hope.

Chapter Fifteen

The following day did not work out as Evander had hoped. Lottie did not appear to be recovered and his footman was turned away from her door almost as soon as it had opened.

The man came back, dejected, with the news that not only was he told to leave, but that the very austere butler had informed him no one was interested in hearing him plead Evander’s case.

Evander was not so easily put off. He directed his coach to Aphrodite & Cupid, where Miss Flemming gave him a smile tinged with some confusion.

‘Isn’t it Wednesday?’ she asked. ‘I cannot say I’ve seen you here any other day of the week except Saturday.’

‘It is Wednesday,’ he confirmed. ‘And I need a new bouquet—perhaps the most exquisite you’ve ever done.’

Her brows lifted, as though she was surprised by his request. ‘Not for Miss Rossington?’

‘Oh, yes, for Miss Rossington.’ His gaze passed over the flowers and settled on some brilliant purple blooms. ‘Irises.’

‘Hope?’

He nodded. ‘And white tulips.’

‘Forgiveness?’

‘She’ll understand.’

Or at least Evander hoped she would. His dream had felt so attainable up until the moment Devonington had propositioned her in the corner of a ballroom, the foul beast of a man.

Deep down, he knew that if it wasn’t Devonington it might have been some other cad. And Evander was to blame for all of it. If he hadn’t gone—if he hadn’t left Lottie for so long—she would never have had to turn to such a profession to survive. It was Evander’s fault and they both knew it.

‘I’ll have the bouquet delivered this afternoon,’ Miss Flemming said with a smile, polite and courteous as always.

Evander’s hand ached from punching that cur. He flexed and clenched his fingers now, so his bruised skin stretched over sore knuckles. ‘I’ll wait for it, please. I’d prefer to deliver them in person.’

‘Oh.’ Miss Flemming flushed, momentarily taken aback, but recovered with an over-bright smile. ‘I hope this means all is working in your favour? I’ve never seen a man so devoted.’ She flushed. ‘I’ll prepare these for you straight away.’

True to her word, she had a magnificent bouquet put together in less than half an hour. Most likely her most beautiful one yet. The bundle was made up of irises, and peeking between the purple petals were strategically placed white tulips. She had bound it together with silver ribbons that formed a bow comprised of several intricate loops.

‘It’s perfect,’ Evander said appreciatively.

‘Best of luck to you, my lord.’

‘I’ll need all the luck I can get,’ he muttered.

Then he tipped his hat to her and departed the small shop, returning to Lottie’s with the weighty flowers clutched in his hand.