Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (20 page)

The anger drained from his face to be replaced by an anguish almost painful to watch. "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the perfect waves so they fell loose over his brow. "I don't know. But I am very much afraid, Fanny, that she has broken my heart."

Dear God, it was worse than she'd thought. "Strange," she said. "I did not realize you had a heart." She smiled so he would know she was teasing.

He did not return her smile. Instead, he said, "Neither did I."

"Oh, my dear boy." She reached out a hand, and after a moment Max took it in his and held it tightly.

"Did you see her?" he asked.

"No. She was gone when I came downstairs. She left a note."

"What did it say?"

"That for reasons relating to her health, she was forced to return at once to Wycombe Hall."

"Her health?"

"That is what she said." And Fanny had not believed it for a moment. Oh, perhaps for a moment, when she recollected Sir Nigel Leighton's visit. She had discarded the idea, however, believing something entirely different was afoot. One look at Max and she knew she had been right.

"That's all? Nothing more?"

"And some very kind words thanking me for my hospitality, etc." Fanny had actually been quite moved by Rosalind's note. She had written how glad she was to have gotten to know Fanny, how she would always remember her with gratitude and deep affection. She would not tell Max, however, that under her signature, her niece had added a scrawled afterthought:
Please say good-bye to Max for me
. Under the circumstances—whatever they were; it was still unclear what precisely had happened—such a casual sentiment would be worse than nothing at all.

"Damn."

Poor Max.  And Poor Rosalind, for she was likely as devastated as Max if she felt obliged to go tearing back home to her father. "She said she would write to let me know they had reached Devon safely, and would I please send along the rest of her things to Wycombe Hall at my earliest convenience."

"Damn."

"Your vocabulary has become strangely limited this morning, Max. Perhaps you should tell me what happened between you two."

He leaned down to bring to his lips the hand he still held, then released it. Sinking back in the chair, he heaved a sigh so deep it bordered on a groan. His eyes met hers and he offered a wan smile. "You will not credit it, my dear," he said, "but I actually came here today to ask Rosalind to marry me."

Fanny flinched at the impact of his words. Her jaw dropped and for a moment she could do nothing but stare at him, as if waiting for him to say he was joking. "My God," she said at last. "My God."

"Astonishing, is it not?"

"Max, darling, I had no idea. So that is why you are dressed up like a Christmas goose."

He flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve and adjusted his cravat. "I thought I looked rather fine, actually."

"Indeed you do."

He tossed his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "What a fool I am. I don't know what got into me."

"Love?"

He gave a disdainful snort. "What rot."

"Did you seduce the girl, Max?"

He sent her a baleful glance. "Not that it is any of your business, madam, but I am beginning to believe that she seduced me. For what purpose, I do not know. Duped me into—" He stopped and shook his head. "What a bloody fool I am."

Fanny was beginning to form a picture of what might have happened, though why the girl should have bolted was still a mystery. "Did you come to make an offer because you made love to her? Was she a virgin?"

"Dammit, Fanny—"

"Yes, of course she was. I'd wager the girl had never been outside Devon in her life before coming here." She also recalled the conversation she and her niece had had about the joys of lovemaking. There was no question Rosalind had been an innocent. "So, you were her first, and now you feel guilty and obligated to make an offer. Admirable. I confess I would never have expected it of you, Max."

"Dammit, that is not why I wanted to marry her."

"Oh? Then, why?"

"Because I loved her! Or thought I did."

Fanny sighed wistfully. The road to love was not always smooth. "Well then," she said, "you must go after her."

"What?"

"Max, darling, I have known you since you were a pup, and in all that time I have never known you to fall in love. If it has finally happened, surely you are not going to let her simply walk out of your life. You must go after her."

"No."

"Why?" Her hands flew up in exasperation.

"She played me for a fool, Fanny. She let me believe in something that didn't exist. I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought she loved me."

"Max, if that girl was not top over tail in love with you, then I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Then why the hell did she leave?"

"I don't know!" Fanny's voice rose almost to a shriek, she was so frustrated with this stubborn, stupid man. "That is why you must go after her, to find out what you did to make her run away."

"All I did was to give her exactly what she wanted. And without a word, she bolts. Right now, I swear I'm so bloody angry at her I hope I never see her again. I would not be responsible for my actions."

"Love does not simply disappear once it's got hold of you, Max."

"It doesn't have hold of me. It merely brushed against me momentarily, and now it's gone."

"Is that so?"

"Don't press, Fanny. It's over. End of story."

Fanny smiled. "We shall see."

*          *          *

"Oh, Papa! I'm so sorry."

Rosie clung to her father, who held her tightly in his arms. He rocked her slowly back and forth, the way he used to do when she was a child but had not done for a dozen years or more.

"My poor Rosie." His voice shook with emotion. "You thought you were going to die? Like your Mama? Why didn't you tell me? What kind of unnatural parent am I that you felt you could not share that burden with me? Rosie, Rosie, you must have been so afraid." His voice broke and he held her tighter.

"I was, Papa," she said through her own tears. "I was terrified."

"And all alone with your pain and fear. Oh, Rosie, my heart is breaking to know how badly I failed you as a father. How I wish you could have told me. I might have spared you so much anguish. My poor girl."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed his damp cheek. "I wish I had told you, too, Papa, but I just could not."

He reached in his coat pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, then gently dabbed at her wet face and eyes. "I have not been a good father to you, Rosie. It pains me to realize how far I've slipped away from my own children, so far that they can no longer trust me enough to confide in me. The one person in your life who ought to have been there to support you was not there. I've failed you, daughter, and I do not know what I can ever do to make it up to you."

"Oh, Papa."

"I've failed you in every possible way. I've taken advantage of you, relied on you for everything since your Mama died. I just always assumed you'd be there to take care of things. But I've learned a thing or two since you left. I've learned how much you do for Wycombe, and for me and all your brothers and sisters. You're the rock upon which this family is built. That role ought to have been mine, but I abdicated it to you. It shames me to admit that by doing so, I caused you to miss everything a girl should experience in life."

Rosie sent him a sheepish grin. "I think I've more than made up for anything I may have missed."

He stroked her cheek and smiled. "I'm glad you had such a good time."

Her expression clouded. "But Papa, I told you how it was. I did terrible, shameful things. Things no respectable young lady should do."

She had told him everything, or almost everything, relating all the details of her perfidy in a dispassionate voice, while inside she burned with humiliation. He had listened patiently, letting her finish before he spoke. In the end, though, he had been more affected by her belief in her imminent death than by any escapade she recounted. "Are you not angry with me?"

"No, Rosie, I am not. I am too angry with myself to begrudge you a bit of fun."

"But Papa, I am so ashamed. I only did those things because I was pretending to be someone I am not. I was fearless and reckless and wild, not at all my true self."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. When you were a child, you were as fearless and reckless as they come. More than any of your brothers and sisters. You were vivacious and happy and outgoing." He looked over her shoulder and tapped his chin with a finger. "Funny. I'd forgotten that. I always think of you as quiet, efficient, sensible Rosie. But you were quite different as a child. Before your mother died. I suspect it was your old true self that rose to the surface in London. I'm glad. You deserve a bit of frivolity after all those quiet years."

"Oh, I was frivolous, Papa. And worse." She took a deep breath and expelled it through puffed cheeks. "There was a man, Papa."

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He is a friend of Aunt Fanny's. His name is Max Davenant and he is an infamous rake."

"Are you in love with this man?"

"Yes, but that is not the point. I... I became very much involved with him."

"I see," he said, and fixed his gaze on hers for several long moments. "Is there to be a child?"

She chewed on her lip, contemplating how to answer him. Finally, she simply said, "I don't know." Pain and sadness gathered in his eyes at the implication of her words, and she had to look away. "I thought I would be dead soon. I didn't think..." Her throat closed up and she could say no more. Tears pooled on her lashes and spilled down her cheeks. She could not bear to think how much she had hurt him.

"Well," he said, "we shall just have to wait and see. Whatever you decide to do, Rosie, you have my full support. I have failed you for too long, but no longer. In this matter, it shall be just as you wish. If you love this man and want to marry him, you have my blessing. If he is not willing to do the right thing, then I will do whatever is necessary to convince him otherwise."

"I cannot marry Max, Papa."

His brows knit into a frown. "Why not?"

"He believes I am someone else."

Chapter 13

"I am not going after her."

"But Max, darling—"

"No!" He wished she would just leave him alone. Fanny had been singing the same tune for a week, and it was growing tiresome. "Eldridge, take her away, will you? Is there not someone else she can harass for a while?"

"Come along, my dear," Lord Eldridge said, taking Fanny's elbow. "The company is thin tonight. Let us go home and find better company." He gave her a rakish leer and she grinned like a young girl as she was gently steered toward the exit.

Lord, but she must have been a siren when she was young. No wonder his father had loved her. But at the moment, Max was heartily sick of her. He had stopped visiting Berkeley Square, in hopes of avoiding her, but he saw her everywhere else. He had not even considered curtailing his usual activities. The last thing he wanted was to make a public statement of his broken heart, so he continued to make appearances at all the best parties and balls. Unfortunately, Fanny often attended the same events, and she made a point of tracking him down and haranguing him about Rosalind.

Max did not need Fanny's prodding. He could not stop thinking about Rosalind, puzzling over her departure. One moment he hated her passionately, the next he relived their love-making in all its sweet detail and fell in love with her all over again.

He had told Fanny that Rosalind had broken his heart. Max had a new respect for that old cliché. Whoever coined the phrase must have felt just as Max did. The pain of loss was almost physical in its intensity and centered in the area of the chest. It hurt so badly it did indeed feel as though something inside him was broken.

The worst part was not knowing why. If he at least knew why she had left, maybe it would hurt a little less.

Once or twice, he even considered taking Fanny's advice and going to Devon—not to sweep her into his arms and carry her away, but only to find out what the devil had happened. He did not believe it was a coincidence that she left London only hours after sharing his bed; but he did not know what the hell it meant.

"I say, Davenant, heard your little bird has flown the coop."

Oh, God. "If you are speaking of Miss Lacey, Overton, you are correct. She has returned to her home in the country."

"How very interesting," the blond devil said. "What do you suppose prompted her to leave?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask her aunt."

He plucked absently at the lace at his cuffs, adjusting the fall. "As it happens, I did."

"And what did she say?"