Tears built in her eyes until they shone like diamonds in the weak winter sunshine. “I was so happy when you asked me to marry you. I truly thought you loved me.”
“I did,” Theodore swore. “Goddamnit, I still do.”
“You used me. Perhaps not intentionally, but you did, and you would have continued using me had I not severed our relationship. It’s just as awful as my father using your family to gain his daughter a title.” Lauren pushed him away when his hands abruptly dropped to his sides. Ducking past him, she shook out her skirts and gave him what could only be considered a pitying look. “That is our truth, Theodore.”
That is our truth, Theodore.
Lauren’s words needled Theodore. Through the rest of that afternoon, into the evening, through the night and into the next day, as she evaded his company and surrounded herself with the few single men her cousin invited to the house party, those words taunted and prodded him.
So, she believed she’d been used for his own gain. He squirmed uncomfortably, knowing she suffered under that disillusion. His motives for remaining silent on the terms of their engagement were oddly enough to spare Lauren both pain and embarrassment. No one needed to know his family bought themselves a rich bride, and inheritance or no, once he met Lauren, he was determined to have her, no matter what.
As his valet tied his cravat, preparing him for the evening meal, Theodore remembered the night he asked Lauren for her hand in marriage.
It was at the Pettiman Ball. They’d stepped onto the terrace for a bit of fresh air after a rousing Scottish reel. Slipping his arms around Lauren’s tiny waist, he kissed her until she was breathless. Then, with the moonlight reflecting in her eyes, he told her he loved her and asked her to be his wife.
An instant “Yes!” and arms thrown around his neck was Lauren’s immediate response. Their engagement was announced that very evening, just before the last waltz. It was incredibly romantic, the talk of the society pages for weeks, and completely staged by their fathers for maximum effect.
He and Lauren enjoyed a whirlwind courtship of stolen kisses and increasingly passionate embraces before his father finally succumbed to wasting disease. Theodore was saddened but not broken. Now, there was a chance to repair things his own way.
The promise of Lauren’s inheritance eased the way. Creditors ready to call for his head backed off, willing to give Theodore a chance to work on alternative measures when it came to repaying the debts.
But that only lasted until Lauren’s own father died unexpectedly three months later. When she broke off their engagement, all hell broke loose.
The overwhelming mountain of liabilities, the pressure in caring for his mother, the estates, the tenants, had Theodore solving issues the only way he knew how. By using his own wits and calling in favors from everyone who owed him. Through cunning and incredible luck, he rebuilt his family’s fortune until it was richer than before his father lost it all.
But Lauren didn’t know about that. She only knew he agreed to marry her for her money. No matter how often he claimed otherwise, she wouldn’t believe him until he proved her wrong.
Theodore sighed, waving the valet away with an impatient gesture.
He would work harder at convincing Lauren. Think of some way of demonstrating his devotion and love for her.
But what could he do when she already had everything she needed?
Following supper, Penelope and George gathered all the guests in the main salon.
“Gentlemen, we have games of chance for your pleasure,” George announced. “Ladies, there is whist if you are so inclined. Or you may watch from the sidelines.”
Theodore made his way to Lauren’s side. She was ravishing in a deep, emerald green gown, beaded ebony jets decorating the low-cut bodice. Again, her hair was swept up into a chignon, with wispy ends fluttering around her ears and leaving her nape enticingly exposed. Black satin, elbow-length gloves completed her ensemble.
“Will you play?” he asked, devouring her in the flattering light cast by the chandeliers overhead.
“Perhaps.” Lauren’s attention remained on her cousin as Penelope floated from table to table, ensuring the games were ready for play. The excitement level rose by several degrees, conversations growing louder and more boisterous as wine and spirits began flowing. “Wouldn’t you prefer a game of baccarat?”
“I prefer a turn of cards, so my fortunes are in my own hands rather than the capricious spin of a wheel.”
Her gaze cut to him, stormy rainclouds that never failed to remind Theodore of drowning. “Your father was fond of baccarat. Or so I heard.”
It was the first time Lauren had broached the root cause of his family’s financial ruin. Theodore’s teeth clenched with embarrassment. He’d known one day this particular subject would raise its head.
Why he had needed an heiress.
“That’s true. My father gambled his holdings, my future, everything my mother brought to the marriage. He wasted it all, then stood amongst the ruins and begged that I marry well enough to overcome his losses.”
It nearly killed him to see Lauren’s bottom lip tremble with his statement. Before he could soothe her, a servant stepped up, handing them two glasses of wine.
Lauren took the glass with a murmured ‘thank you’ while Theodore wanted to dash his to the floor, gather the woman before him into his arms, and kiss her until she forgot her anger with him. Forgot his arrogance when she confronted him so many months ago. Forgot his culpability in concealing their fathers’ plan. Most of all, he wanted her to forget he’d not trusted her to still love him once she learned the truth.
Theodore stared at her, struck by all the things he suddenly wished to say. But as if entangled in a web, the words jammed in his throat, refusing to advance.
He took Lauren’s elbow in his hand.
“Lauren…”
“Ah-ah,” she scolded under her breath, pulling free of his grasp. “There’s no mistletoe where I’m standing. Which is surprising because this entire house is dripping in the stuff.”
“Would you consider having a conversation where we would have more privacy?”
Lauren glanced in the direction Theodore indicated, a window alcove where a single kissing ball hung, and gave him a fierce scowl. “Are you serious?”
“We must talk…”
“Must we?” Her words were sweet enough, but her eyes flashed at him.
“Yes. We must.” Before he could elaborate, Lady Melanie sidled up to him.
“Lord Hawthorne, there you are. Would you partner me in a game of whist? I’m quite good at it. There is no fear we shall lose.”
Cutting the lady a brief glance, Theodore bit out, “My apologies, my lady. I’m otherwise occupied.”
Melanie pouted, which may have had the desired effect on another man. It only left Theodore feeling irritated, especially when her attention allowed Lauren to edge away. And blast it all, Sanderson was waiting nearby, ready to pounce on Lauren the moment Theodore’s back was turned. Lords Jenkins and Harland stood alongside him, their eyes trained on the woman he intended on marrying.
Theodore’s blood grew hotter as it traveled the path of his veins. His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to attack all the scoundrels and beat them to a pulp for even daring to look at Lauren. They were practically stripping her clothes from her body; they stared so intently. The scowl he sent them was so fierce the three men hastily averted their eyes, turned their bodies in the opposite direction of Lauren, and promptly stumbled into each other like bumbling fools.