Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) (26 page)

“I suppose I’d better.” He climbed out, instructing Mr. Robertson as he passed, “Wait for me. This may take a few minutes.”

They walked inside, Faith leading the way, and she could feel Mr. Robertson’s curious gaze on her back. Did he suspect the relationship? Might Mr. Hubbard have boasted of it? She couldn’t specifically expect that he hadn’t. With how he’d behaved, she was forced to remember that he reveled in horrid conduct.

The small parlor where she’d dined was empty and she entered it, watching him as he entered too, as he shut the door.

She glared at him, but he was thoroughly at ease and in no hurry to start the conversation. She’d assumed she would rail at him, that she would scold and demand answers, but now that they were sequestered she couldn’t begin either.

She’d never been a fighter and had no idea how to viciously quarrel as the encounter seemed to require. She’d also had such limited experiences with men. She hadn’t a clue how to delve to the root of what had transpired, how to pry out the appropriate replies, how to compel the appropriate action.

Finally he said, “What do you want?”

The question rekindled her outrage. “What do I
want?
You have the temerity to ask me that?”

“You’re obviously upset. Tell me what’s wrong so we can deal with it. It’s been a very trying day, and I’m exhausted.”

“You’re exhausted.” She pronounced
exhausted
like an epithet.

“Yes, and I’d like to head to my bed so what’s wrong? I’ve never been particularly adept at reading minds so I can’t guess what it is.”

Tears flooded her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. If he could be totally composed so could she.

“Does anything about last night ring a bell with you?”

“Yes, it was marvelous and I enjoyed it very much.”

“We were going to marry this morning!”

“We docked so we couldn’t. I didn’t realize we were so close to London.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“What now? Is it your plan to have the banns called at your local church? Will you purchase a Special License? What?”

He studied her, then killed her by saying, “Sit down, Faith.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you very much.”

“No, sit. I insist.”

“No. I’ll stand.
I
insist.”

They fought a visual tug-of-war she could never win. He shrugged. “Fine. Stand if you prefer.”

He annoyed her immensely by grabbing a chair and seating himself, so suddenly she was standing and he wasn’t. She’d like to believe she towered over and intimidated him, but she didn’t. He looked excessively comfortable and put out at having been delayed.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “about what happened, about what we discussed.”

“Marriage,” she bluntly stated when he couldn’t speak the word aloud.

“Yes, marriage. We can’t proceed.”

“Why can’t we?”

“It’s completely impossible.”

“And this occurred to you when you awoke?”

“Yes, and as I went about my chores. It dawned on me that naught had changed.”

“Meaning?”

“I was swept away by passion so I made all sorts of promises, but I can’t support you. I don’t even have a room to rent. What would I do with you?”

“What would you
do
with me?”

It was such a cold comment, and she was wounded by it. She staggered over to a chair and plopped down too. They stared, an impasse as vast as an ocean opening between them.

His expression was kind and considerate, much as an older brother might have regarded her if he was explaining a difficult subject and was afraid she wouldn’t grasp the intricacies. She assessed him, desperate to find a hint of the flirtatious rogue who’d amorously pestered her throughout their acquaintance, but he’d vanished.

“You say naught has changed,” she said, “but it appears to me you’ve forgotten a very important event.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” His cheeks flushed so apparently he was capable of some shame.

“You deflowered me!”

“I did,” he nonchalantly admitted.

“You can’t walk away.”

“I have to, Faith.”

“I gave myself to you! I wanted you to be the one. I…I…love you.”

He scoffed with derision. “You don’t love me. You’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s why I agreed. I thought you loved me too. Or at least that you were very fond of me.”

“I am fond of you.”

“That’s it? You’re fond?”

“Very fond and you’re making too much of this.”

She gasped. “Too much? From where I’m sitting, I feel I’m not making nearly enough.”

“We’re adults, Faith. Adults engage in carnal relations all the time. There’s no need to fly into a dither about it.”

“We have to marry! In light of how we behaved, we have to!”

“No, we don’t, and I realize you’re new at sexual games. They can be distressing at the start. You’re overwrought, but that’s normal for a female. You’ll gradually calm and once you’ve reflected a bit, you’ll see that this is for the best.”

“I’m simply having feminine hysterics, is that it?”

He extended his hands, palms up, a gesture of conciliation. “I wouldn’t call it hysterics. You’re overly excited, but after you’ve pondered the situation you’ll remember what a horrid husband I would have been. I’m guessing you’ll figure you dodged a bullet.”

She gaped at him, wondering if she’d ever known him at all. She couldn’t claim she hadn’t been warned or that she hadn’t witnessed for herself the types of misdeeds he relished.

She been so sure of his affection so what did that indicate? Was she the biggest fool in the world? The most gullible one? The most pathetic one?

“We have to marry,” she mumbled again and, humiliating herself, she added, “I was counting on it.”

“You shouldn’t have, Faith. It was an impractical dream.”

“It wasn’t,” she insisted.

“I’m stuck in my ways, and I’ll never be any different. You deserve a man much better than me.”

“I’m certain that’s true, but with my being ruined who would have me?”

“Any decent fellow would.” He sounded like an older brother again, an irritatingly optimistic one.

She began to cry. She couldn’t help it. There were too many tears, and she couldn’t hold them in. All day, she’d been in miserable shape, her nerves operating at a fevered pitch as she’d speculated over his intent.

Well, he’d cleared up her misconceptions. He had no intent. He’d never had any, and she had to accept that she’d simply been one woman—in a long line of women—who’d lifted her skirt for him. She’d been a conquest, a challenge, and he’d chased her until he caught her. Now he could be shed of her.

“You fornicated with me,” she charged, “because I was easy and available, because you could.”

“No, I did it because I desired you very, very much.”

“But you never planned to bind yourself to me. You lied.”

“I considered attaching myself,” he tepidly asserted, “but it’s not possible for me to practice fidelity. I’m not loyal or faithful. You can’t rely on me. Ask anyone who’s ever known me.”

“It must be quite a list.”

“It is.” Her tears flowed harder and he said, “Don’t cry, Faith.”

“Don’t tell me how to act.”

“I’m really not worth so much anguish.”

“No, you’re not. Besides, I’m not crying because of you.”

“Who is it for then?”

“For myself.”

The future was so bleak. She’d built up such a blissful scenario in her head, with such stunning visions of what her life would be like as his bride that it didn’t seem as if she’d lived at the convent a single minute.

She couldn’t imagine being locked away again behind the thick stone walls. The quiet and solitude would drive her mad.

He scowled. “Why are you crying for yourself?”

“What am I to do?” she wailed, embarrassed by her beseeching tone.

“I think you should escort the girls to Scotland. Then you should abandon your quest to be a nun and return to your father’s house. Have him search for a husband for you. You’ll be much happier that way.”

“I should…
search
for a husband?”

“Yes. You’re pretty and smart. You’ll find someone who’ll be perfect for you.”

“Shut up, Chase.”

She couldn’t tolerate much more, and she pushed herself to her feet. She’d been pummeled by his remarks. If he’d taken a cane and beat her with it, she couldn’t have felt any more battered.

He stood too and actually said, “I hate to part when you’re so upset.”

“I expect you’ll get over it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so angry. We’ve been such close friends.”

“Friends!”

“We have been! Don’t you dare claim we weren’t.”

“You’re deranged.”

She tried to march out, but he was between her and the door. As she passed by, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Let go of me,” she fumed.

“No. You can’t leave when you’re in such a state.”

“Let go!” she repeated more firmly, but of course he didn’t heed her. He pulled her around so she was facing him.

“Listen…” he said.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve heard as much from you as I can abide.”

“I’m not very good with words, Faith.”

“Really? In my opinion, you’ve been exceptionally clear.”

“I’d wed you if I could. Why can’t you understand the problem?”

“Why can’t you?”

“I care about you!”

“A likely story, casually tossed out and offered much too late.”

“I know what I’m like. I’m cognizant of my faults, and I would never subject you to a life with me. I said it before and I say it again. You deserve so much better than me.”

“I continue to agree with you. I deserve much better, and I was a fool to have ever trifled with you.”

She started out again, and he stopped her again.

“Have mercy on me, Chase. Please!”

“Look…ah…return to the convent.”

“I intend to. Where else would I go?”

“Wait for me there.”

“Wait for you to do what?”

“Maybe I’ll stumble into some money or…something.”

“Maybe?”

“I’d come for you.”

“After all of this, you suppose I’d want you to come?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because my heart is broken!” she shouted. “Rest easy, Mr. Hubbard. You’ve succeeded in your mission. You’ve convinced me that I was insane to count on you.”

“That’s my point.”

“What if I’m increasing?” she blurted out, the terror of the prospect alarming her.

“You’re not.”

“How can you be sure? Are you God? Can you control procreation?”

“You’re not increasing!” He was shouting too.

“What if I am?” she bellowed.

“Write to me and I’ll…I’ll…”

“Don’t wear yourself out finishing that sentence.”

“Dammit! Why are you making this so difficult? Why can’t you see it from my perspective?”

“Because you’re an ass and I hate you.” She raised her hand and slapped him as hard as she could. “Don’t ever contact me again.”

With that violence initiated and that command bluntly voiced, she stormed out and slammed the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“We’ve made many changes while you were away.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Faith sat in a chair in Mother Superior’s private apartment, but she wasn’t speaking to the Mother Superior she’d revered for the prior eight years. That woman had been kind and pragmatic, forgiving and generous, and Faith had adored and respected her.

When they departed on their journey to Rome, Mother Superior had left her best friend in charge. The woman had shared Mother Superior’s stellar traits and would have kept the convent rolling along on the same even keel.

But early on, she’d passed away, and apparently there had been a bit of chaos afterward. Various factions had argued over who should lead them next, and the most conservative bloc had ultimately ruled the day.

Sister Ruth had taken over. She was grouchy and gloomy, devoted to routine and regulation, and transfixed by dogma. She had no ability to see the bigger picture or to deal with their myriad of personalities in a fair manner.

Ruth had never liked Faith and had been constantly offended that Faith hadn’t cut her hair. She’d always warned Faith about the sin of vanity, had chastised her for being proud.

Faith didn’t think she was vain or proud and luckily she wouldn’t ever have to defend herself against any charge Ruth might level. She didn’t plan to stay much longer.

“You and I have had issues in the past,” Sister Ruth said.

“Yes, but I never felt they were major.”

“Well, as I just mentioned, procedures have changed. You’ll have to cut your hair immediately, and you have one month to take your vows.”

“One month?”

“We’re holding an investiture on the first. Any novitiate that refuses to participate will have to leave.”

“Even those like Rowena and myself who’ve paid our fees?”

“Yes. You will become a Bride of Christ or we’re finished with you.”

Faith wanted to argue, wanted to ask why drastic measures were necessary, but it didn’t really matter.

For two weeks while stuck in a carriage with Rowena and the girls, she’d mulled her fate, had struggled to make sense of what had happened. She was still grieving over Chase Hubbard, still perplexed by what she’d done with him.

In London, after her hideous—and what would prove to be their final—conversation, she hadn’t seen him again. The following morning, Mr. Robertson had arrived to assist them, but Mr. Hubbard hadn’t put in an appearance and after she’d slapped him, she probably shouldn’t have expected he would.

What had remained for them to discuss? Absolutely nothing.

Mr. Robertson had been funny and charming, had brought each girl a doll and a ribbon for her hair. He’d stuffed a basket with food, including several treats the girls enjoyed. They’d been able to focus on that rather than the fact that their hero and benefactor didn’t care about them a whit.

Faith had passed the trip to Scotland in a sort of coma, her mind totally overwhelmed with choices.

She’d ignored her vows about chastity and moral living. She’d thrown it all away for a scoundrel who didn’t even have the decency to apologize for ruining her.