Page 63 of What a Lord Wants

Nothing Dom had done had been able to mitigate any of it. Not the letter that he’d forced the newspapers to run from the supposed artist denying that she was the model, not a statement from the Royal Academy indignantly claiming that they would never display a scandalous painting of a society miss, not his personal assertions to gentlemen at the clubs that he knew the artist and that the woman in the painting simply was not Eve. But he was kind enough to keep trying, although now…

“No point in it,” she whispered to her reflection. Her voice was little more than a hoarse rasp, her throat raw from all her tears.

But what ate at her heart most was that she’d also caused Mariah pain during what should have been the happiest time in her life. Instead of making plans for the baby with her husband, her sister had been with her, alternating between scolding and comforting, in a way that only Mariah could do. She’d also stayed up with Eve every night since the preview because, just as when Mama died, Eve couldn’t bring herself to fall asleep. Mariah had left today only because Eve had insisted that she go home to Robert and seek rest of her own.

Thank God Papa wasn’t here. He wouldn’t return until tomorrow, so she still had time to think of what to tell him. But when the truth came out, she’d have to leave. There was no other choice. She couldn’t remain in London where her presence would cause problems for her father’s business.

No, she’d have to go away, and this time much farther than Miss Pettigrew’s School in Cornwall. All the way to Spain or France…far enough to protect Winslow Shipping and Trade and everything her father had worked so hard to achieve and to keep from bringing scandal by association down upon Mariah, Robert, and the baby. The same niece or nephew she would now never get to see grow up.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she pressed her fist against her chest and the awful anguish squeezing her heart. She’d caused pain and problems for everyone she loved. How would she ever be able to put it all back to rights?

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Miss?”

Sucking in a deep breath, she straightened her spine. “Yes?”

Mrs. Blount, the housekeeper, opened the door and peered hesitantly into the room. “You have a visitor.”

She didn’t have to ask who. Had to be one of the Carlisles or the Marchioness of Chesney. She was otherwise friendless now, with no guarantee how much longer even those acquaintances would hold. But she couldn’t bear to see anyone.

“Please send away whoever it is,” she whispered. “I’m not accepting visitors.” And never would again.

“Yes, Miss.”

Mrs. Blount left with a nod, lowering her head so that Eve couldn’t see the older woman’s worry for her.

Wonderful.She’d even managed to upset the servants, who were like a second family to her. She hung her head in her hands. Oh, how would any of them ever be able to forgive her?

Moments later, an angry shout went up from downstairs, followed by muffled but raised voices. And then—

“The hell I will!”

Dom.What little blood still remained in her cheeks drained away.

“Where is she? I’m not leaving here until I speak with her.”

“Your Lordship, please!” Bentley sounded completely out of sorts, his voice growing closer, which meant that he was chasing after Dom, who was hurrying upstairs to find her.

“Eve!” Her name echoed through the house, followed by the pounding of footsteps up the stairs and down the hall as he searched for her.

Her door flew open. In the mirror, she saw him pause in the doorway as his gaze swept through the room, looking for her. Determination hardened his face—until he saw her, when his expression melted into concern.

“My lord!” Bentley panted heavily from the hallway behind him, worn out from chasing him. “If…you would…please leave…”

“It’s all right, Bentley,” she assured him. “I’ll speak to the marquess.”

The butler hesitated, his gaze swinging between Eve and Dom. They all knew the impropriety of receiving a man when she was alone in the house and without proper chaperone. But to have him here, in her bedroom—

The hole she’d dug for herself kept getting deeper.

“It’s all right,” she repeated as she mustered what dignity she had left and stood. “Bentley, would you please put together a tea tray for His Lordship? We’ll have it in the drawing room.”

“Yes, miss.”

When Bentley reluctantly turned to leave, Dom stopped him. “Put a bottle of bourbon on that tray, will you?” He stole a grim glance at Eve. “I suspect we’ll need something more substantial than tea.”

The butler nodded with a dismissive sniff, not at all happy with Dom’s presence here, then smartly turned on his heel and walked away to carry out orders.

Instead of stepping into the room, Dom leaned against the doorframe and met her gaze. Then he silently held up a bouquet as a peace offering.