Page 87 of How to Wed a Courtesan

Though the man had kept his distance, Evander had noticed Finsby and Lottie had spoken at length. And, while Evander had tried not to feel anything, he hadn’t been able to help the stab of hurt at their apparent joy at seeing one another.

‘Lord Finsby?’ She tilted her head with a frown.

That terrible ache throbbed in his chest once more. ‘I know he was your lover.’

‘He was my protector. Not my lover.’ Now it was she who appeared wounded. ‘You knew this was a possibility when we wed. I told you—’

‘Forgive me.’ Evander ran a hand through his hair. ‘I... I didn’t expect to feel so...’ He sighed. ‘Jealous.’

She came to him, her feet silent on the thick carpet of his bedroom. ‘Jealous?’ She shook her head. ‘No protector I’ve ever had possessed even a modicum of what you have.’ She pulled off her long, white satin gloves, gracefully plucking one finger at a time. ‘Lord Finsby was a lonely widower who wanted companionship—’

Evander put his hands up and backed away, not wanting to hear any details, uncertain if he could bear it. ‘You needn’t say more.’

‘I won’t give you all the details of all my protectors, Evander, but I’d like you to listen to this one.’ She took his hands in hers and lowered them. ‘Lord Finsby wanted someone he didn’t have to explain the background of his story to—someone he spoke to often enough that they would already know. He was not my lover, but over time he did become my friend. That was all that ever existed between us.’

‘You spoke with him for a while.’ Evander said the words before he could stop himself and wished he could snatch them back, hating how jealous he sounded.

Lottie did not appear upset. Instead, she smiled. ‘He was telling me of his recent marriage to a woman he has lost his heart to and congratulating me on ours.’

‘Then what is it that’s upset you so?’

Her smile wilted. ‘Lord Kentworth approached me tonight.’ Suddenly she seemed to deflate, the energy going out of her. She sagged down onto a chair before the hearth. ‘He meant well...in the way that Kentworth does.’

Evander took the chair opposite her, his body tense. ‘What did he say?’

The fire popped and snapped. Lottie sighed, reaching for her hair and slowly beginning to slide free the pins. A tendril of black hair uncoiled from where it had been secured in an artful curl over her brow.

‘The truth.’

‘What truth?’

Lottie lowered her hands, with her hair still mostly locked in the intricate arrangement, and stared down at the pins gathered in her palms. ‘About your mining investment. And about how your mother’s friends have treated her.’

Anger coursed through Evander like molten lava. Damn Kentworth. Evander had confessed that information in confidentiality, not for it to be immediately regurgitated to the very woman he was trying to keep it from.

‘That drunken dolt,’ Evander growled.

‘I think he thought...’ A tear fell from Lottie’s eye. ‘I think he thought he was doing me a favour, by offering me proof of how very much you love me. So much that you would suffer such treatment.’ She choked in a sob and her hands came up to her face, the pins scattering over the floor.

Evander put a hand on her shoulder and offered her his handkerchief. She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears, and accepted it.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked.

‘I knew it would upset you.’

His chest tightened—with rage for how others made her feel, with hurt that he had caused her such anguish, with the realisation of the predicament they were in.

Damn Kentworth.

‘I hate that you are treated so because of me.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘And I have no way to fix it.’

‘Lottie, I have a confession to make.’ He crouched down in front of her.

She watched him, her expression hesitant and filled with such hurt he felt it viscerally in his soul.

‘I don’t care what others think of me or who doesn’t want to do business with me.’ He smirked. ‘That is not the only investment opportunity at my fingertips. There are plenty of people willing to do business with me and my money.’

‘Your mother,’ she said miserably.