The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)(2)

She could…

Or there was…

Imogen sighed. Nothing. There was surely nothing worse than this.

A soft rapping at the door cut into her musings.

Imogen knocked her head against the wall. “Go away,” she murmured to herself. She didn’t want company. Certainly not her harebrained mother. Another knock. She was content to become one of those outrageous spinsters who brought their wildly attired pups to fashionable events and earned furious amounts of stares from—

Another knock. “My lady…”

Oh, bother. “Do come in,” she bit out, not taking her gaze from the carriages rattling along the London streets below.

The butler cleared his throat. “Lady Chloe Edgerton to see you.”

Imogen spun about. Her best friend stood in the doorway, a wry smile on her pretty face. She dangled her legs over the side of the seat. “Chloe,” she greeted with far more excitement than she’d felt for anything or anyone since the broken betrothal. She’d been wrong. There was one person she’d care to see.

“Imogen.” Chloe swung her reticule back and forth.

The butler discreetly backed out of the room and pulled the door quietly closed.

“I gather you’ve heard the news,” Imogen said without preamble. She’d never been one to prevaricate.

Chloe tipped her head. “The news?” She tapped her hand to the center of her forehead once. “Ah, yes, silly me. Did you mean about Lord Whetmore’s horse nipping Lady McTavishs’s shoulder? Quite scandalous really.”

Imogen appreciated what her friend was doing. She really did. Her shoulders sank and she returned her attention to the window. It was hard to be happy when one’s sister had so betrayed you and your betrothed had humiliated you. Even a best friend who’d boldly challenged all your nasty enemies at finishing school didn’t have much of a chance in rousing you from your melancholy.

Chloe sank beside her in a flutter of ivory skirts. “I do hate seeing you like this,” she said quietly, setting aside her matching ivory reticule.

Imogen mustered a wan smile. “And I hate being like this.” Nobody preferred a gloomy, despondent creature. Then again, her betrothed clearly hadn’t preferred her happy and loquacious. So really, who knew what one wanted, after all?

A dandy in garish, canary yellow knee breeches and a lady in like color chose that awful, inopportune moment to glance up. The couple in the street widened their eyes and stared openly at her.

Chloe reached over and drew the curtain completely closed. “Busybodies,” she mumbled.

When the scandal was as great as Imogen’s even the rare few who didn’t partake in gossip now bandied her name about.

“It will get better,” her friend said with a confidence Imogen didn’t feel. She leaned over and patted her hand. “Why, I daresay you are better off without one such as him.”

“Polite Society does not agree,” Imogen said, a wry smile on her lips. With his golden blond, Brutus curls and his grinning countenance, the Duke of Montrose’s company was desired by all—including her sister.

Chloe squeezed her hands. “Look at me.”

Imogen lifted her gaze.

“You are better off without him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why, I heard Mama say he’s quite a rogue and not at all proper.”

Yes, breaking a formal arrangement to wed your betrothed’s younger sister certainly spoke to that truth. She curled her hands into tight fists. Though for one considered to be a rogue, he’d hardly demonstrated an amorous intention toward Imogen. Embarrassment turned in her belly.

“You wouldn’t want to marry him. Not when he’s proven himself inconstant. You deserve more than that.” She paused and when next she spoke, she did so in hushed tones. “Don’t you remember what you confessed at Mrs. Belton’s?”

Ah, yes, Mrs. Belton would not be pleased by this very public shaming of one of her students. For purely self-serving reasons, of course. After all, a headmistress’ reputation was bound to the ladies she turned out into the world.

Chloe nudged her in the side.

Imogen grunted. “Love. I said I’d wanted to make a love match.” She’d believed she loved William and worse, believed he’d loved her, too. What a na?ve fool she’d been. A young girl so desperate for that emotion in her life, she’d convinced herself of foolish dreams. And yet, a shameful, pathetic sliver of her soul still longed for that dangerous, painful emotion.

“You do remember.” A wide smile wreathed her friend’s face. “Splendid.” Chloe glanced about, as though searching for interlopers. She reached for her reticule and fished around inside the elaborate, satin piece. “I’ve brought you something,” she said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

The faintest stirring of curiosity filled Imogen; any sentiment beyond the self-pitying, pained fury she carried was a welcome emotion. Chloe withdrew a shining, gold chain. The sun’s morning rays filtered through the crack in the curtains and played off the small, heart pendant. Imogen studied the light reflecting off the glimmering heart. “It is beautiful,” she murmured.

“Here, take it,” Chloe prodded. She pressed it into her fingers. “It is yours.”

“I couldn’t.” She made to push it back.