Chapter Eight
“Silas?”
Shock crushed every other reaction, even outrage. Caroline felt like she’d set out on a stroll to the end of the garden and landed on the moon instead.
“Yes, it’s me.” His voice held a grim note and his stern expression was familiar from the picnic.
“What are you doing here?” She remained too bewildered to make sense of his presence. “Where’s Lord West?”
“Safely back in London, as far as I know.” Silas rose, but was wise enough not to approach her. He was in shirtsleeves and he’d changed from breeches to loose trousers. With a sick feeling, she realized she’d been stupid—again. The coat on the chair was dark brown. West’s coat today had been blue.
Finally anger stirred and pushed through her confusion to become paramount. Anger and a crushing humiliation that felt like a physical blow. “So you’ve been playing with me all this time. You and West must have had a good laugh, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t find it particularly amusing.”
He looked horrified. “There’s no joke, damn it.”
“There certainly isn’t.” Hot tears stung her eyes. Compared to the enormity of Silas’s betrayal, West’s was no worse than a mosquito bite. Another sign that love was the work of the devil. “Just a pair of spoiled and spiteful boys toying with a lady the way they’d pull the wings off a fly. I thought better of you, Silas.”
Anguished regret tightened his features and he took a convulsive step toward her. “Caro, no, you mistake me.”
“I certainly have in the past,” she said bitterly. “Well, you’ve both had your fun at my expense. I’m delighted I provided such fine entertainment. Now I wish you good night.”
She stumbled back toward her room. Luckily she’d left the door open when she came in. In her current state, she didn’t trust herself to negotiate the simple mechanics of the latch.
“Caro, wait.”
“No,” she said in a constricted voice. How could he do this to her? Whatever sins she’d ascribed to him, she’d never thought he’d be wantonly cruel.
“Please.”
Despite her frantic need to hide away with her misery, something in his voice made her hesitate. He sounded much nearer. She braced for him to touch her, knowing her brittle control would disintegrate if he did. But instead, he reached past her to draw the door shut.
She stared unseeingly at the varnished wooden barrier. “You can’t trap me in here.”
“You’re free to go.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. But when she placed one hand on the door and pushed, he didn’t move to stop her. Behind her, she heard him sigh, the sound weighted with a regret that made her wonder if she’d mistaken his motives. Then she pictured him conspiring with West to dole out her favors between them and her hand fisted against the wood.
“Please let me explain,” he said softly.
“You just want to mock me,” she said thickly. She was trembling as if she had a fever. Strangely while escape lay inches away behind a stout door with a key to keep him out, she didn’t move. She lowered her hand to bury it in her skirts.
“On my honor, no.”
On a burst of hurt fury, she whirled to face him. “You owe me better than this.”
He raked a shaking hand through his thick tawny hair, and even angry as she was, she recognized his remorse. His face was pale and drawn and a muscle flickered in his lean cheek. “I do.”
The soft admission of wrongdoing made her stomach clench. “I never want to see you or Lord West again. You are both beneath contempt.”
Silas’s shoulders slumped and he turned away to collapse into a chair. “I’ve made such a hellish mess of all this.” His eyes, dull with regret, focused on her. “Don’t blame West. This is all my doing.”
“He told you of our rendezvous.”
“No, he didn’t.”
She frowned, backing against the door, although he didn’t budge from the chair. “Then how did you know I’d be here? You didn’t follow me from Richmond. You arrived at the inn before I did.”
The guilt in Silas’s expression intensified. “I stole your note before West read it.”