The Third Duke's the Charm (28 page)

“At least in England,” Heathton agreed. “The rulers in North Africa still employ it from what I understand. It would be a difficult way to live, suspicious of every bite or drink. Do I know him?”

A polite way of asking if her lover was of the beau monde. “Probably,” she admitted.

“I thought so.”

“Why?” she asked curiously. They had been so circumspect that even her maid did not suspect she was meeting clandestinely with someone. Alternating mornings, evenings, and nights, they used different places, and never acknowledged each other in public. She’d insisted and reluctantly he’d agreed, though he swore it did not matter to him if they were seen together.

However, she was in love for the first time in her life. Deeply, passionately in love, and if something happened to him . . .

No.

She couldn’t bear it. She’d survived the rest of it. The accusations, the public degradation, the seclusion with even the servants whispering behind her back, but
harm
to him because of her was inconceivable. She would shatter into a thousand pieces, the damage irreversible.

“We met a half a year ago. I still have a few friends left, and I was invited to a small house party.” Remembering that weekend brought a small smile of reminiscence, an indulgence she allowed herself. “I know this might sound like romantic female drivel, but it was one of those moments. He walked into the drawing room and we looked at each other and I
knew
.”

God bless Eve for inviting him. As she knew as well.

Angelina added, “Trust me when I say that I was the last person to believe in love at first sight, my lord. I am more grateful than you know to him for adjusting my jaded and weary view of the world. I find love has the ability to heal even the deepest wounds.”

Once the words were out, in the resulting silence, she had the impression, just a fleeting one, that she’d just made the erstwhile unflappable Earl of Heathton slightly uncomfortable. Was it the mention of the word
love
?

The earl’s expression was too bland to tell. He said, “I take it you are staying in London. Give me the address and I will correspond with you as needed.”

She nodded and took the pen and vellum offered and wrote down the address of her rented townhouse. At least he hadn’t demanded to know the name of the man who had given her a glimpse of possible happiness, for she was truly reluctant to give it. He was the catalyst for her to take action, but she wanted to shield him as much as possible.

As she rose to leave, she hesitated and turned back to look at the tall man still standing with one shoulder propped against a bookcase filled with dusty volumes of ancient books with faded gilded letters in Latin on the spines. Lord Heathton looked back with an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“I do not wish to make you reconsider for I am more grateful than you know, but why did you agree to aid me?”

“Why?” Hazel eyes looked her with enigmatic detachment. “Because if you are telling me the truth, it appears someone ruined you deliberately and I admit, it reminds me of an old friend I’d like to meet again.”

Emma Wildes
is the winner of numerous awards including the Lories, the Passionate Plume, and a first place Eppie for best erotic historical romance.

Also by Emma Wildes

Whispers of Scandal

Ruined by Moonlight

Ladies in Waiting

Twice Fallen

One Whisper Away

The Notorious Bachelors

Our Wicked Mistake

His Sinful Secret

My Lord Scandal

Seducing the Highlander

Lessons from a Scarlet Lady

An Indecent Proposition