Page 137 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Cannot what, dear boy?’

‘Ashford,’ Lydia urged. ‘Will you please just …’

‘I cannot deceive you a moment longer,’ Ashford said, stepping back from Lydia, pulling his arm away. ‘This whole thing is a sham, Father, a performance. I did intend to trick you into approving the match.’

The duke frowned. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Perhaps we ought to move our conversation to a more private location?’ Lady Phoebe said, ushering them further away from the dance floor.

But Ashford was not listening. His face was set, grim, as he turned towards Lydia for the first time since the duke had arrived.

‘I cannot marry you,’ Ashford said.

Lydia flinched backwards from him.

‘I am terminating the engagement.’

Lydia felt each word as a separate blow. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came.

‘I need air,’ Ashford said, unable to look her in the eye. ‘I need to get this wretched mask off.’

He turned sharply on his heel and made directly for the doorway.

‘Miss Hanworth,’ Lady Phoebe began, but Lydia did not wait to hear what empty reassurance she might offer her. Picking up her skirts, she gave chase.

He had only made it into the hallway before she caught up, darting in front of him, so that he was forced to stop.

‘Ashford!’ she said, finding herself suddenly full of words. ‘You cannot just – just do such a thing as that and not explain!’

‘What is there to explain?’ he said, trying to move around her. ‘Is this not what you wanted?’

‘Yes, originally, but …’

‘Then you win,’ he said, spreading his arms.

She stared at him. His face was clear, closed. It was the same person with whom she had just danced with, minutes before, but he looked so different now.

‘It is not about winning for me,’ she said. ‘Not for a while now. And I do not think it has been for you either. Surely you can see it?’

‘What I see is that we have been making each other miserable. It is time to stop.’

‘But I thought …’ she faltered.

One had to be very brave, it seemed, to voice such thoughts aloud. So much had happened between them, so much shared, but very little of it out loud. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe it had only existed in her mind.

But she could not retreat back from it now. She would regret it forever if she did.

‘There were moments where it seemed as if we felt something for one another,’ she began, sick with mortification to say such words, while he stared at her, so unfeelingly. ‘That somehow these hellish and bizarre days of us both trying to end this – maybe was us beginning something.’

Ashford did not speak.

‘When we kissed …’ she began.

He hushed her, almost violently, looking frantically around the empty hallway. ‘You ought not to speak of that. We should never have done it.’

‘You said just hours ago,’ she said, ‘that you did not regret it.’

‘I was wrong. It was wrong.’