She’d betrayed her feelings. She’d let him see how much she cared. How much she was willing to give him. How much control he had over her.
“Viola, speak to me.” He held both of her hands. “Do you want this?”
He meant: did she want to become his mistress. Because he couldn’t propose to her. She’d known it all along and ignored it.
“I think it’s best if you leave, Your Grace.” She twisted away from him, blindly searching for her clothing. She jumped off the bed, clutching her gown to her body.
“Wait, Viola. Let’s talk about this,” West said. She was upset and rightfully so.
“Just go, West.” She nodded at the door.
“I don’t want to hurt you. You’re too beautiful and filled with life. I want to see you blossom. Take your place on center stage. You should claim the musical prize you won. Steal the show as you did at the musicale.”
As she was in danger of stealing his heart.
“Are you saying that you’d like to see me marry someone else?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me to do this entire time?”
“Yes, because it’s the right and the prudent thing to do. Oh this is all such a tangle.”
He came to her, placing his arms around her.
“Viola.” He drew a ragged breath, resting his forehead against hers. He didn’t know what to say to her. He cared deeply for her but he was all wrong for her. She was a romantic who believed in love. He was broken, tainted, and lost. “What you said in the garden. You were right. I should read my father’s letters and let go of this anger and shame. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready.”
“I know you can face this, West.” Even when she was angry at him she still cared enough to urge him to face his past.
A knock on her door sent them flying to opposite corners of the room. “Just a moment,” Viola called.
“Your father is asking for you, Miss Beaton,” the elderly manservant named Withers called.
“I’ll be down shortly.”
West helped her dress and stood for a moment,clasping her hands. “I wish circumstances were different.”
“It’s all right, West. I have no expectations. I want nothing from you.” She shoved her hair back into a knot and replaced her white cap.
“You should want something from me. And I wish to God I could give it to you.”
“Go home, West,” she said. “This can never happen again.”
She left the room.
He wished he was a different person, a better man. And that he was free to marry whom he chose instead of needing to marry for money, for his sisters’ honor and their position in society.
If he were free... but he wasn’t. And he couldn’t act like he was.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“This book feels different to me, almost as if it was written by a different person,” mused Isobel the next afternoon.
Viola and her friends were gathered at their clubhouse to discuss Daphne Villeneuve’sThe Dastardly Duke’s Secrets, the final book in a Gothic romance trilogy which they’d all been waiting impatiently for.
Viola was glad to leave the house for a few hours to sort through the complicated emotions crowding her mind. There was no safer and more welcoming place to be than a book club meeting with her friends.
“The Mad Marquess’s SecretandThe Wicked Earl’s Wisheswere excellent, of course, but this one... it’s almost as if the author knows me,” Della gushed. “Oh, Daphne, I do wish you would reveal your identity to the world so that we could invite you here to give a lecture.”
“I want to ask her why Vespera was so stupid as to barter herself to that dastardly duke,” Isobel said. “I don’t find it plausible. She’s otherwise sensible, but when he appears, she turns into a blithering ninny.”