Page 35

“I didn’t say you were. It is entirely possible that the ladies in attendance are also faithless.”

There was no harshness in his words, only honesty. Apollo had long since come to terms with what had happened, even if seeing Helene had been akin to tearing open a long-healed wound.

“I am sorry for what happened,” Helene told him quietly. “I have no excuse for my actions, save that I was afraid.”

He snorted. “Of me? I was a lad of nineteen who believed himself in love with you. There was never any danger for you when you were with me.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t you I feared. It was society. When you told me you wanted to marry me, I knew I would never be accepted in your circles. I was a famous actress, and I’d been the mistress of several of your peers. The scandal would have been tremendous.”

She wasn’t wrong. And perhaps he had been idyllic and naïve to think otherwise. He’d been too caught up in his love for her to truly consider the consequences.

“I don’t deny that tongues would have wagged,” he conceded.

“Nor would I have been accepted. Doors would have closed to you. Whispers would have abounded. I didn’t know what to do, only that we couldn’t marry. Inwood promised to invest in the Royal Curtain on my behalf. It was something I had longed for all my life—a steady source of funds and half the ownership of a theater. It would have changed everything for me… It did change everything for me, in fact, until…”

“Until it burned to the ground,” he finished for her.

“Yes.” Tears glistened in Helene’s eyes in the bright moonlight. “I gave up the man I loved for a future that was gone in mere hours, burned to nothing but ash. And then I had to start anew. I went to the Continent, but it’s taken me years to earn enough to come back to England.”

A sob caught in her throat.

There had been a time, long past, when Apollo would have been desperate to hear her confession and apology. He couldn’t fault her for the choice she had made. But he did fault her for the manner in which she had conducted herself.

“I walked in on you with Inwood’s cock down your throat,” he reminded her. “That hardly felt like the action of a woman in love with me.”

Her eyes closed. “I wanted to push you away, and it was the only way I knew how. I couldn’t bear to throw you over on my own. It had to be you who made the decision for us both.”

Something occurred to him then. He had received a missive telling him a tryst was afoot between Helene and Inwood.

“You were the one who summoned me to Inwood’s house that day, weren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes. I am sorry for it. Can you forgive me?”

“I accept your apology,” he said easily. “But this changes nothing for us.”

“But do you not see how providential it is that we are here together at the same time? It is as if the fates have given us a second chance.” She reached for him again, her hand on his cheek. “I never stopped loving you, Apollo.”

“It is not the same for me.” Gently, he took her hand away before offering her a bow. “There is another woman who holds my affections now.”

“O-oh dear,” she stammered. “I should have expected so, I suppose, but you are at this house party, and I was so overcome with emotion.”

He bowed again. “I wish you happiness, Helene.”

“I wish you the same,” she said softly, a mournful note in her voice.

He left her there in the gardens beneath the light of the moon, and he didn’t regret it for a single second. Rather, it was as if a heavy weight from the past had been lifted from his chest.

CHAPTER 9

Ophelia was tired.

She was also a trifle disguised, thanks to the glasses of wine she had hastily drained whilst waiting for Prestwick to return from the gardens.

Like a ship taking on water, she listed to one side before committing the ultimate sin—a giant hiccup. Thankfully, she righted herself before she fell. It wouldn’t have done to go keeling over when she was playing the role of hostess. She could only imagine what the houseguests would report back to the Wicked Dukes Society founding members.

“Drat,” she muttered aloud.

The room was a blur of colors and light, of bodies moving in scandalous proximity, and she had somehow gone from fortifying her daring with a bit of wine to consuming far too many glasses too quickly.