Page 27 of For The Love Of A Widow

“Did you think because I am a widow, I would fall into your bed without benefit of any future promises? Is that why you’ve been so kind to me, taking me to a place I favored in the past, even after everything I did to you when I wed Gregory?”

That finally captured his attention. “I said I would never force you into any arrangement—betrothal or otherwise.”

“But you were hoping I’d fall willingly into my place as your mistress, the sad, pathetic, aging widow that I am?”

His eyes flared as hot as her temper. “Of course, not. Do not be obtuse, Lettie.”

She leaned forward, laying her arms across her chest. “Never in my twenty-six years have I ever been obtuse—except in this moment, not realizing the roguish ways you’ve taken to and how far you’ve truly fallen. You are not the boy I grew up with.”

“You are correct, my lady, I am not a boy. I have not been for many years,” he hissed, matching her pose and bringing their faces so close their noses nearly touched. “And my personal life is none of your concern. Especially the years following your flight from London and marriage to another. Do not dare cast stones at my decisions.”

He was a rakehell. A rascal. His benevolence surely feigned for his own benefit. She shook her head in disbelief. “You thought me so low—penniless, homeless, and without a possession to my name—I could easily be taken to your bed? Resigned to a future of being passed between men until my beauty crumbled to nothing and I perished old and alone…a spent whore?”

His silence was damning.

And crushed what little Lettie had been able to piece back together from her life before the war. She’d thought seeing unknown men die on a field covered in blood and weaponry was difficult. She’d assumed tending the wounded and caring for the permanently disfigured was a fate no person should have to witness. She’d mistakenly presumed her nightmares would ultimately bring her to a level so low she could not climb out.

However, this treachery was far worse than anything she’d been subjected to thus far.

Mankind was far crueler and more uncaring than she’d ever suspected. The battlefield and what came with it was expected, but how was she to know her enemy when they wore the guise of an old, dear friend?

The carriage pulled to a stop in her drive, and the coachman leapt from his post and opened the door. He extended his hand to assist her down, but Lettie paused.

Staring directly into Daniel’s midnight, cold eyes, her lifelong friend, silently imploring him to give her any answer but the one she’d concluded. She needed him to argue against her accusations. Tell her how wrong she was and offer some form of insight into what their confrontation with Gable had been about—and why he’d rushed Lettie from the shop as if the devil were on their heels.

Instead, he remained quiet, turning his penetrating glare toward the street beyond.

Just as he had all those years ago.

Lettie grabbed her handbag and took the coachman’s offered hand, departing the carriage.

She nodded in thanks before lifting her chin and walking to her door. She would not run. She would not allow her sob to escape. She would not show him how deeply his silence wounded her.

Daniel had, in essence, pointed out yet again that she wasn’t worth his time or effort.

CHAPTER 12

L ettie pressed her hands to her ears in an attempt to block out the barrage of banging and clanging as men worked somewhere deep in her parents’ townhouse. The noise had awoken her from a fitful sleep and sent her scurrying to work the night from her eyes and get dressed.

The sounds echoed through the entire house, bouncing off the walls and rattling the windowpanes. The men appeared to be working on the second floor, for the sound increased as she made her way to her father’s study, situated on the ground floor and overlooking the back gardens. The noise was directly over her head as she paused before a slightly ajar door—even over the loud workmen above, Lettie could hear her mother and father speaking…along with another familiar voice.

Daniel.

He’d called her obtuse, yet it seemed to be he who did not understand that his continued attendance in her house was unwanted. Yet, he’d still arrived almost every day since her return, though she’d avoided him over the past several days following their argument after her appointment at the modiste’s shop.

Lettie leaned close, trying to discern what they spoke of over the commotion above; only a jumble of words, a raised voice, and the sound of pacing greeted her.

“You must insist, your grace,” her mother demanded.

“The dowry will be yours,” her father countered.

“I have promised Lady Colette I will not—” Daniel’s voice was inaudible, the din of the workmen cutting off his reply.

But she’d heard enough to know they spoke of her. Her future. Her life. Everything that should be her decision.

They discussed it behind closed doors as if Lettie had no say in the matter.

Maybe she shouldn’t have any say in her future. She could barely keep her present within her grasp as the past always threatened to take over; as it did now. A hammering sounded above stairs, pulling her out of Carrolton House and placing her back in camp. The noise of soldiers breaking down their roughly built camp as they prepared to leave the peninsular and travel to their next battle assignment rang as the hammer continued above. Lettie remembered hastily packing all her medical supplies—having to leave behind a good portion of what she’d managed to collect in their rush—and the sound of injured men being moved from cots and set upon the hard, cold ground. They would either gain their feet or be left behind.