He didn’t flinch, didn’t even look concerned. “So I did.”
“I could kill you right now.” And she meant it. In that moment, with his dismissive eyes on her and his betrayal sitting like lead in her chest, she absolutely meant it.
“But you won’t.” His certainty was another insult. “Because despite your fury, you still care for me.”
“You’re wrong.” Her finger rested on the trigger, the metal warm beneath her touch. “I don’t care. Not anymore. You’ve cured me of that unfortunate weakness.”
Something shifted in his expression. Was it fear? Regret? But his voice remained cold. “Then we’ve done each other a service. Goodbye, Marina.”
He turned his horse and rode away without looking back. She kept the pistol trained on his retreating form. She could put a ball between his shoulder blades. Could watch him fall from that horse and bleed into the grass where they’d first kissed.
But he was right about one thing. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. And not because she cared. She could never allow herself to care.
Only when he disappeared over the rise did she lower the weapon.
Then she fired every remaining shot into the target, each pull of the trigger returning a piece of herself. Never again would she trust. Never again would she believe pretty words. Never again would she allow herself to be eager for such nonsense.
The last shot obliterated what remained of the target’s center, leaving nothing but splinters and a hole.
She tossed the pistol in the grass where he’d helped her learn to aim. Beside it, she dropped the embroidered handkerchief with his initials. The gift was evidence of how pathetic she’d been. The blanket by the oak, the one where she’d planned to give him her virginity and promise to love him forever, could rot there for all she cared.
The bastard had done her a service. He’d taught her to shoot, and he’d taught her that men weren’t to be trusted.
She’d never allow herself to be taken in by a handsome face again.
Not ever.
Chapter One
Evan
Mayfair, London
Spring 1812
Evan released along breath as he looked at his pocket watch and slumped back in his chair. Viscount Snowdon and his new wife had extended an invitation to him for a dinner party that evening, which would provide a much-needed break from combing through account ledgers. Mourning his father for what felt like an eternity had left him cooped up, desperate to understand what didn’t make sense.
He spent his mourning period hidden away in the country, avoiding any chance of seeing Marina. He knew it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross, but he would prolong it as long as possible. Although a public setting would be preferred given their last encounter. It was unlikely she was any less likely to aim her pistol at him.
The fire in her eyes months ago in the field still gnawed at his insides. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, but it was what was best for them both. At least, that was what he told himself on the long nights when he questioned his resolve.
She believed him to be cruel, but the real cruelty was how much he didn’t wish to reject her at all that day. She would never know how he truly did long to marry her before he learned of his family’s woes, not that he felt the same for her now. Her cold words and hatred of him nagged at his pride. And his pride was all he had left after hisfather left him and his mother in such a dire situation.
He checked the papers daily and secretly sighed in relief when her name wasn’t there. Of course she would have to marry at some point, but he’d rather not know about it. With any luck, she would marry someone he wasn’t familiar with and she’d spend her time far away from him. But given that they shared some of the same friend groups, he at least hoped she wouldn’t have the mind to take a liking to one of his friends. That he could not bear.
Glancing back at the ledgers, he still couldn’t explain where the funds had gone. His father had to have made withdrawals, but there was something off about some of the notes in the margins. They weren’t even words, really.
And then there was the mystery around how his father had died. More accurately, he appeared to have been murdered, but none of it made any sense.
In order to raise enough funds to keep the estates running, he had to sell an estate his grandmother had left him. He closed his eyes, imagining what his life might have been like if he could have married Marina and settled into that estate together. If he hadn’t been left practically destitute and forced to economize to ensure that his mother and himself could survive. If his father had not drained their account and then been killed, none of this would have happened and he would have Marina.
But was beyond foolish to torture himself with such a notion. And he was no fool, regardless of what Marina believed. He shook off the thought, and glanced back at his ledgers.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he smiled. Probably not since the last day he’d had Marina in his arms. But the memory of her certainly didn’t bring him any smiles. She was so hateful toward him during their last encounter that it was quite possible he dodged a bullet. A literal bullet.
In these last several months, there had been little to smile about.His mother seemed to avoid his presence because of his foul mood from staying up too late each evening, going over the ledgers and estate reports. He searched for any opportunity he could find to generate income. It was enough to make his eyesight turn blurry. He’d get a few hours of sleep and get up to do it all again, pitching in everywhere he could by day and then spending all evening in his study. He took almost every meal on a tray by himself.
He would succeed where his father had failed, and he would ensure their holdings were as grand as they once were. So far, he secured his funds for a couple of years, and he could ensure that he and his mother had new wardrobes for the season. Fortunately, he had managed to keep them from needing to rent out their townhouse in Town so they could keep thetonfrom knowing the state of their troubles.