She stumbled along the stone path. Tears came so hot and quick her vision blurred, but she could see clearly enough to note that the Debley sisters were no longer on their bench. Bella swiped at her cheeks and nose and noticed someone waving in the distance. Her mother stood at the edge of the garden paths, gesturing her forward.
A little keening sound bubbled up and her throat burned. She couldn’t give her speech. She couldn’t pretend as if her heart wasn’t shattered.
Rather than head toward her mother, Bella veered left toward the house. Before she could get halfway there, footsteps rushed toward her from behind and Rhys gripped her arm.
“Arabella, please. Listen to me.”
Even turning to face him took effort. She feared if she looked at him, she wouldn’t be able to walk away.
“I know what you must think of me.” He let go of her and ran a hand through his hair. “And of Lady Nelson.”
“I don’t give a damn about Lady Nelson.”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Leave.” Saying the single syllable brought a pain in the center of her chest so sharp, it felt as if getting the word out had cut her from the inside.
“Arry—”
“Just go. Go!” She didn’t even realize she was shouting until he jolted back and began glancing around, as if worried she’d attract notice their way.
Looking at him was too hard. Standing this close, all she ached to do was reach for him. Even now, after the unequivocal proof that he did not care for her. That he didn’t care for his own reputation. That he wasn’t a proper honorable sort of gentleman at all.
And despite everything, she still wanted him. She still wished he wanted her.
He bowed his head and nodded once, then walked away.
Bella wrapped her arms around her chest and bit down to stop a wave of shivers. The afternoon had turned warm after a day of unclouded sun, but inside she felt chilled. Empty.
She looked up when she realized his footsteps had slowed. He’d stopped and stood looking back at her.
“Good-bye, Bella.”
She said nothing. There wasn’t anything left to say.
Bella willed herself to stand still when he walked away, not to call out or run after him as her heart insisted. She couldn’t find her usual rational self. This wasn’t a riddle she could unravel. Pain and confusion clouded everything, but intuition told her he wasn’t just walking out of her party.
Rhys Forester had just walked out of her life.
Forever.
Chapter One
July 1848
London, Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club
Rhys Forester, Duke of Claremont, was a lucky man.
He told himself as much as a blade cut the air a hairsbreadth from his cheek, its glinting silver flashing in his periphery. A streak of heat whispered against his skin and his heartbeat spiked before the knife lodged in the wooden board at his back.
Partygoers crowding the opulent private room in Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club let out a murmur of relief. Rhys swept his gaze across the assembly of noblemen and their paramours, forcing a rakish smile. One of the young lords he’d invited tightened an arm around his lady companion’s shoulders when she let out a flirtatious giggle.
He understood the man’s worry.
Rhys had spent years earning his scandalous reputation, and he’d had a hell of an example to follow. The late Duke of Claremont had been known for his decadent tastes and very few morals. Rhys had never been close to his father, but now he’d grown used to the same whispers about his own behavior.
Reckless affairs earned him constant mention in scandal rags and at least two breach of promise suits. Ridiculous luck at the gaming tables caused some to claim he cheated at play. But most of all he was known for the nightly revels he hosted. Parties so wild there had been injuries, infamies, and drunken brawls leading to fisticuffs and more than a few illegal duels.
For years, infamy had sustained him. He’d loved the endless parties. The attention of beautiful women. The envy of other men. Laughter filling his ears because he’d put on the best celebration his guests ever attended. He excelled at very little, but amusement he did well. That and giving pleasure. Giving people an excuse to have fun. Filling his nights with so much frivolity that he could push away thoughts of the duties he’d have to face when daylight came.
Of late those responsibilities were piling so high no amount of revelry could keep them at bay, but he was damned well determined to try. Now that he’d inherited a dukedom, he was compelled to make each party grander than the last.
He’d always been as willful as he was wayward, but what he could no longer deny was how tired it all made him.
This was the fourth party in as many nights with very little sleep in between. His eyes were dry as dust, his throat burned, and there were far too many hours left to go until this soiree died down. The circus theme had been a grand success, but now guests were inebriated and eager for more daring feats from the performers he’d hired.
“Throw another!” a drunk lordling shouted for the second time from the back of the room.
The muscles of Rhys’s arms and neck were stiff, tautened by tension, but when he shifted, the lady flipping a knife in front of him shook her head.
“Stay still, darling.” Jess, one of the music hall performers he’d hired as entertainment, winked at him. “Wouldn’t want to mar that pretty face of yours.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too fond of my face just as it is.”
“Handsome man, you are. Can’t deny it.” She returned a knowing smile, one full of promises he considered holding her to later in the evening.
Party guests laughed at their repartee and gathered close to watch her toss another blade. Hosting a party in a private room at Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club had seemed a good way to celebrate his latest investment triumph. The Duke’s Den had given him an opportunity to expand the wealth he inherited from his father even further via investments in England’s brightest entrepreneurs. But now that he was bleary-eyed, his patience for standing against an unforgiving wooden board and hoping Jess’s aim was as good as she claimed was waning.
“Above his head!” a gentleman called out.
“Between his legs,” his pretty redheaded companion said with a mischievous grin.
“I shall land this blade near the opposite ear.” Jess narrowed her eyes and drew back her arm to throw the next knife.
A nobleman’s buxom paramour gasped.
Rhys held very still and reminded himself once more that fortune was ever on his side.
Jess loosed the knife and it came at him so fast, he only heard the thwack as it struck the board. Then a pinpoint of pain bloomed at the side of his head. Rhys winced. Jess covered her mouth with her hands, eyes widening.
Reaching up, he swiped at a trickle of blood at the edge of his ear.
“Just a scratch,” he told her, and then louder for the guests leaning close, whispering worriedly. “A tiny knick. No harm done.”
“Lucky that,” one man shouted.
“No man is as charmed as the Duke of Claremont,” a brunette said, her eyes wide.
“Another!” Lord Southwell called out. “Let’s see if his luck can hold.”
Jess looked unsteady as she drew the final knife from the belt she wore. Her hand shook when she lifted the implement. Rather than aim and toss the blade, she held his gaze and offered the tiniest shake of her head.