It was as good an excuse as any to be out and about again and Penny was a creative seamstress.
‘We could do that, miss,’ the maid agreed.
Coming from the shops on New Bond Street, they had meandered through Mayfair, passing by Grosvenor Square and the Rhedarium Gardens, but now they were within a short walk of the town house she shared with her parents.
If this wedding were not looming over her, she’d be happily anticipating summer months in their country house in Twickenham. She missed her younger sisters, although it was good they had not been old enough for the London Season and all the pressures it brought. At twenty-three, Mariel had seen many Seasons, had many proposals of marriage.
Only one mattered, though, but that proposal occurred when she’d been two years younger and foolish enough to believe in a man’s promises.
Foolish enough for a broken heart.
Luckily her powers of disguise had hidden the effect of that episode well enough. No one but her father ever knew about her secret betrothal. Or her heartbreak. She’d even trained herself not to think of it.
Mariel’s throat constricted as they reached the corner of Hereford Street. She dreaded entering the house, facing her mother’s unabashed joy at her impending marriage and her father’s palpable relief.
Her spirits sank lower and lower as she and Penny neared the end of the street.
When they were within steps of the town house, its door opened and a man emerged.
He turned towards them and the sun illuminated his face. ‘Mariel?’
She froze.
This man was the one person she thought never to see again, never wished to see again. He was the man to whom she’d been secretly betrothed, the man who had just inhabited her thoughts.
The man who had deserted her.
Leo Fitzmanning.
He was as tall as ever, his hair as dark, his eyes that same enthralling hazel. His face had become leaner these last two years, more angular with tiny lines creasing the corners of his eyes.
She straightened, hoping her ability to mask her emotions held strong.
‘Leo.’ She made her tone flat. ‘What a surprise.’
His thick dark brows knitted. ‘I—I have come from your father. I called upon him.’
‘My father?’ Her voice rose in pitch. ‘Why on earth would you wish to see my father?’ She had not even known Leo was in London.
He paused before closing the distance between them and his hazel eyes pleaded. ‘Will you walk with me?’
She glanced over at Penny, who was raptly attending this encounter. Mariel forced herself to face him again. ‘I can think of no reason why I should.’
He reached out and almost touched her. Even though his hand made no contact, she felt its heat. ‘Please, Mariel. Your father would not listen. I must speak with you. Not for my sake, but for yours.’
For her sake?
She ought to refuse. She ought to send him packing with a proper set-down. She ought to turn on her heel and walk into her house and leave him gaping in her wake.
Instead she said, ‘Very well. But be brief.’
He offered her his arm, but rather than accept it, she turned to Penny. ‘You must follow.’
Leo frowned. ‘I need to speak with you alone.’
Mariel lifted her chin. ‘Then speak softly so she does not hear, but do not ask me to go with you unchaperoned.’
He nodded.
They crossed Park Lane and entered Hyde Park through the Cumberland gate. The park was in its full glory, lush with greenery and flowers and chirping birds.
He led her to one of the footpaths. It was too early in the afternoon for London society to gather in carriages and on horseback for the fashionable hour. The footpath was empty. Once Mariel would have relished finding a quiet place where they could be private for a few moments. She would have pretended that nothing existed in the world but the two of them. This day, however, it made her feel vulnerable. She was glad Penny walked a few steps behind them.
Off the path was a bench, situated in an alcove surrounded by shrubbery, making it more secluded than the path itself.
Leo gestured to the bench. ‘Please, sit.’
‘No.’ Mariel checked to make certain Penny remained nearby. ‘Speak to me here and be done with it.’
He was so close she could smell the scent that was uniquely his, the scent that brought back too many memories. Of happy days when she’d contrived to meet Leo in this park. They’d strolled through its gardens and kindled their romance.
He faced her again and she became acutely aware of the rhythm of his breathing and of the tension in his muscles as he stood before her. ‘I will be blunt, because I have not time to speak with more delicacy.’
His tone surprised her.
‘Please do be blunt,’ she responded sarcastically.
She wanted to remain cold to him. She wanted not to care about anything he wished to say to her.
It was impossible.
Amidst the grass and shrubs and trees, his eyes turned green as he looked down on her. ‘You must not marry Lord Kellford.’
She was taken aback. ‘I am astonished you even know of my betrothal, let alone assume the right to speak of it.’
He averted his gaze for a moment. ‘I know I have no right. I tried to explain to your father, but he failed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation.’
She made a scornful laugh. ‘I assure you, my father takes this impending marriage very seriously. He is delighted at the match. Who would not be? Kellford is such a charming man.’
His eyes flashed. ‘Kellford’s charm is illusory.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Is it? Still, he meets my father’s approval.’
He riveted her with his gaze again. ‘I tried to tell him the man Kellford is. Your father would not listen, but you must.’
A frisson of anxiety prickled her spine. With difficulty, she remained steady. ‘If you have something to tell me about Kellford, say it now and be done with it.’
He glanced away. ‘Believe me. I never would have chosen to speak this to you—’
His words cut like a sabre. He preferred to avoid her? As if she’d not realised that already. He’d avoided her for two years.
She folded her arms across her chest and pretended she did not feel like weeping. ‘Tell me, so you do not have to stay a moment longer than is tolerable.’
His eyes darted back and flared with a heat she did not understand. ‘I will make it brief.’
Mariel’s patience wore thin. ‘Please do.’
His eyes pinned her once more. ‘What do you know of the Marquis de Sade?’
Was he changing the subject? ‘I do not know the Marquis de Sade. What has he to do with Kellford?’
He shifted. ‘You would not know him. And I suppose no gently bred young woman would have heard of him….’
‘Then why mention him?’ Why this roundaboutation? ‘Do you have a point to this?’
‘I dislike having to speak of it,’ he snapped.
Enough. She turned to walk away.
He caught her by the arm and