Lillian harder than his fist had done the night before. Married. He had been courting a genteel woman all the time he had been sporting with her. That was cruel. Yet Johnny had told her last night over and over again that she was putting herself down, and letting herself be used by such men. She had never classed Peter as such-men though.
Why? Because he was more handsome. Because he made her laugh. Because he had a glint in his eye that said he saw something special in her.
She had been as naïve as her brother.
She took the paper, but she did not even look at it. There was no point, she could not read. If she could read she would be a proper actress earning enough money from a lead part at Drury Lane so she had no need to take money from men like Peter.
She threw the paper down on the stage. “Thank you for telling me, Bets.” Then she turned to Arthur. “Sorry. I am concentrating now.” But it would not matter if Arthur accidentally stabbed her, Peter had already done that, he had pierced her soft heart. She had never let it ache for anyone else, but she had loved Peter, while he’d been chasing a decent women and merely bedding her.
His locket hung about her neck, a piece of him, within a silver heart, that lay close to her own heart. She had misunderstood that, and misunderstood the gentleness of his hands as he’d secured it about her neck. Those same hands had put an engagement ring on another woman’s finger.
I hate him.
Yet perhaps her head did, but her body did not—it cried for him as her jaw and lip hurt, and her heart bled.
Part Six
Peter flicked the reins. He had, in the end, had to leave his man of business writing up the contract he wished to offer Lillian. Setting up a mistress formally was far more complex than letting one go.
He sighed as he looked at Emily. He had made his choice now, and right or wrong, he must live with it. He would never be able to feel proud. He would always feel guilty when he looked at Emily, and when he looked at any children they had, because he would know that hidden away elsewhere in London would be an alternative wife and children—he hoped.
He would lead a double life. Yet more than half of society’s men did, so he would not be alone in his journey to hell. But he’d had to make this choice, he could not leave either woman, and so he had chosen both, and if it meant he must keep a secret from his closest friend, so be it. He could not tell Drew, because Drew would tell Mary and Mary would share his sins with Emily, then Emily would learn she had not married a good man at all, but a scoundrel.
“It is a beautiful day,” he commented. Like yesterday, he had been struggling for words as he fought his mental turmoil.
“It is.” Emily gave him that very sweet smile. “I saw Harry and Mark last night; they came to the musical evening. Mary and Drew have come up to town too. They said you called there yesterday. I think after you left they made a rushed decision to come to town immediately.”
Lord, he hoped Drew had said nothing to Mary about their conversation.
“Mary is excited. As you know they did not really have a wedding, because of Drew, and so she is delighted that I have asked her to be my matron of honour. I said to her, though, we have not spoken of when…”
Emily was asking him to commit to a date.
“I would like to be a summer bride. What if we married in late August? It would give us plenty of time to prepare.”
He halted his horses and cupped her cheek. Her brown eyes looked at him from the shadow cast by the brim of her straw bonnet. “You will look beautiful as a summer bride, Emily. I will ask my father if we might be wed at home on his estate, and then you will be surrounded by flowers on your wedding day.”
She tilted her chin up a little, in a virginal request for a kiss. They were in the open and his groom was behind them, there would be no harm. He kissed her lips for a moment. Cool and soft. He turned and
Learning to Kill: Stories