Free Twice a Rake by Catherine Gayle Page B

had walked away from her last night, leaving her alone on the ballroom floor with the entire world reveling in her social demise.
    Perhaps the entire world was a bit of an exaggeration. Still, Aurora noticed: their slack jaws; their bold stares, followed by a deliberate turning of their backs; the matrons shooing their daughters away from her presence; the sudden lack of gentlemen hoping to place their names upon her dance card; the forced, heavy silence gradually being overwhelmed by a calamitous medley of whispers, most all of them containing her name.
    The look of bewildered defeat upon Father’s face.
    The derision and disgust in Aunt Sedgewick’s voice as she ushered Aurora from Eversley Hall.
    More hurtful than all the rest combined—the pity in Rebecca’s brief and gentle grasping of her hand as they parted.
    The blankets were ripped back with fervor, and she was blinded by the sun just starting to rise outside her window. Sure enough, Rebecca held the untidy remnants of Aurora’s warm bed, not Rose.
    Rebecca frowned down at Aurora from her exalted position as the angel of death, with the rays of the sun lighting her frame. “I sincerely doubt there will be any funeral today, and if there is I suspect it might be for Lord Quinton and not for you, so do please cease your moping.”
    Aurora rolled over and buried her eyes in her pillow. “Go away. It is ungodly early in the morning. Why are you here? I don’t want your pity.”
    “You’re doing a poor job of showing that.” Rebecca took a seat on the edge of the bed. “But you’ll get none of it, whether you want it or not.”
    “Humph.” Aurora rolled over again to show her scowl to its fullest effect. “Some dearest and most especial friend you are proving yourself to be. Abandoning me in my darkest hour?”
    “I’m hardly abandoning you. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m here. At sunrise. Good gracious, this is early. How is that an act of abandonment?” Rebecca pulled on Aurora’s hands until she reached a sitting position. “There is much to discuss.”
    “Such as?” Aurora drawled. She hardly cared. What did anything matter, now that she was condemned to death? Or at least to a life alone. Regardless of how much she abhorred the idea of a loveless marriage, in truth, the thought of loneliness terrified her far more. She couldn’t bear to end up like her mother.
    Proving herself a true friend, despite Aurora’s complaints to the contrary, Rebecca ignored the pathetic tone of her question. “Such as the possibility of Lord Quinton calling upon you today.”
    “I don’t care to see him.” The lie even rang hollow to Aurora’s ears. She’d lost her touch.
    It had to be his fault.
    “Well, if he has even the smallest pinch of decency in him, he’ll be here this afternoon to offer for you.”
    “Father will call him out. Quinton will be dead before he can make a declaration of his intentions.” At least, she thought Father would. Blast, what if he didn’t?
    Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Your father will not kill Lord Quinton. The man is your only chance at retaining any shred of respectability.”
    She hated it when Rebecca was right.
    “He won’t come. You saw him last night. He just kissed me and left. Besides, he was as drunk as a wheelbarrow. He probably doesn’t remember any of it.” If he remembered it even half as vividly as Aurora did, she wondered that he had not burst into flames from the intensity. She closed her eyes and tried to push the memory down. It would not do to think of such things. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart. “No, he’ll stay far away. I expect I’ll never see him again. The scoundrel.”
    The perfectly delicious scoundrel who had stolen her heart. And, clearly, her wits.
    A wry smile lit Rebecca’s features. “I expect he’ll be here not long after luncheon. And I expect that means we have a wedding to plan, and precious little time to do it.” She moved to a basket near the window,