George could not quite believe that he was now to marry Lady Ellen. The moment Lord Morton had opened his mouth, George had known that it was all about to go horribly awry. Lord Morton was never one to be silent when he was in his cups.

Closing the door softly behind him, George paused and leaned back against it for a moment, aware of the heaviness in his heart. This had not turned out as he had intended. He had not ever thought he would find himself engaged and certainly not to the lovely Lady Ellen.

The pain in her eyes when she had looked at him had almost been too much to bear. He had not been able to look at her, dragging his eyes away and burying his gaze to the floor. What on earth had he done?

Groaning, George dragged himself away from the room that held Lady Ellen and wandered slowly along the balcony, thinking to hide himself in the shadows for a time. She had cried that he had not truly been the reformed character he had been pretending to be but, the truth was, that George knew he had begun to change. When it had come to walking with her outside, he had not wanted to take her, worried that Lord Morton would follow, and it had only been the sight of a great many other guests that had pushed him into stepping into the cool night air. Once outside, it had been her closeness, her warmth toward him, that had made him forget about what it was he had to say. When she had turned toward him, her softness pressed lightly against his, he had been quite unable to prevent himself from doing the one thing he knew he should not.

It had all gone wrong from there.

If only he had not been so weak. If only he had not allowed his desire to overcome his better judgement. But she had been so warm and so soft that he had been entirely unable to turn away.

Slamming his hand down repeatedly on the balcony rail, George lowered his head and stared at the floor, before sitting down into a slumped heap. Should anyone see him, they would most likely think him somewhat merry, but the truth was, he could not be more miserable if he tried.

How he felt about Lady Ellen could not be denied. There was more to what he felt than a simple fondness, more than just the first kindling of friendship. He did not want to believe that he had any kind of true affection for her, but the reality was that he would not feel such pain and such guilt over her if he did not. Of course, by now, it was much too late to admit such a thing, for he had now ruined any chance of happiness between himself and the lady. She would never forgive him. Their marriage would be one of toil and suffering. Mayhap they would end up living in separate homes as his own parents had done, clearly disinterested in one another’s lives.

Sighing, George hung his head. He would give Lady Ellen anything she wished, even if it meant an entire home of her own. After what he had done to her, he could not refuse her that.

A sudden movement caught his eye, and he watched Lady Ellen’s parents walk together slowly toward the door he had just come from. The countess wiped her eye delicately, and the earl patted her back gently, before coming to a stop outside the room.

Feeling as though he were intruding on a private moment, George watched as the earl gently lifted his wife’s chin, smiling at her and saying something that made her return his smile. With a delicate hand, he brushed the tears from her eyes, and as George watched, the countess ran one hand down the earl’s cheek, her expression soft.

It was clear that there was a deep affection between them both, and as they stepped into the room, George felt his heart grow sorrowful all over again.

It was not as though he had never thought to marry, for he had known that it would be a part of his future. He had to produce the heir at some point, he supposed, but that had simply been a formality as far as he had been concerned. He had once thought to find himself a wife who cared as little for him as he did for her. The heir and spare would be produced, and then he would continue his life in as similar a fashion as he could. A host of nannies and governesses would be employed for his offspring, with Eton beckoning for his heir in particular, and he would settle into his elder years with the knowledge that he had done all that was required of him. But now, in seeing the affection between the Earl and the Countess of Fancot, George found himself longing for something he had never thought to have before.

Did he really think he would be happy with a life where he would live apart from the lady he had promised himself to for the rest of his days? Especially when that lady, as he now knew, was to be Lady Ellen? The agony coursing through his veins told him that, no, he would no longer be content with such a picture, not when his wife was to be Lady Ellen. He could not simply have a child with her and then turn his back on her. That was no longer the kind of gentleman he wanted to be. He could not be so cruel hearted, so selfish and inconsiderate any longer.

The change he had pretended to take on was now so much a part of his being that George knew he could not easily return to the life he’d once had. As much as she might not believe him, George knew that Lady Ellen had been the one to bring about such a severe change of heart and mind within him. Had it not been for his desire for her, then the affection he now felt would never have become a part of him, and he would never have begun to leave the man he had been behind.

Putting his head in his hands, George groaned aloud again, the sound echoing off the walls behind him. He did not know what Lady Ellen would be saying to her parents, but he could tell that her father already despised him. It had been a difficult conversation to have with the man, and George had not held anything back. The only thing he had not told the earl was how Lady Ellen had reacted toward him, how she had been the one to kiss him first. That had been something of a surprise even to him, and as far as George was concerned, the Earl and Countess of Fancot did not need to think badly of their daughter. He wanted their anger, their frustration, their fury, to be entirely directed toward him. In fact, he welcomed it. It was his just punishment for what he had done and for the wonderful woman he was to gain.

Guilt rattled through him as he got to his feet, looking down at the swirl of guests. He did not want to return there and have to paste a smile on his face and pretend that all was well, but it was necessary for him to do so. There could be nothing but happiness on his features so that, when the announcement was read by the beau monde of his engagement to Lady Ellen, no one could suggest that he had been unhappy about it the evening before at the very ball where he had supposedly proposed to Lady Ellen. Straightening his shoulders, George lifted his chin and made his way purposefully down the stairs, trying his best to ignore how wooden his limbs felt and how dead his heart was within him.

Unfortunately, instead of putting on a cheery smile and greeting those around him with his usual affectionate manner, George’s gaze landed on Lord Morton.

His supposed friend was standing idly by the wall of the ballroom, his gaze roving over three particular young ladies just to his left. There was a slight leer on his face, his eyes dark and glittering. George did not need to guess what was on his friend’s mind.

“Morton!”

The anger coursing through his veins sent fire to his belly, his limbs heating up, as he stormed toward Lord Morton. The man turned to look at him in surprise, his face paling as George drew near.

“Now, hold up there for a moment,” Morton stammered, raising one arm as though to ward off blows. “You know I was just jesting.”

Aware that there were already people turning to look that them, George grasped his friend’s arm.

“Come with me, Morton,” he said, turning to the ladies and rolling his eyes. “You had best get home or, at the very least, get yourself to the card room. For heaven’s sake, you can barely stand up!”

Thankfully, the ladies turned around again, their interest waning, as George gave Morton a slight shove in the direction of the card room. Morton, thankfully choosing not to refuse George’s request, walked along to the stairs and began to descend. In a few minutes, they were both walking to the card room when George, his anger still burning furiously, rounded on his friend.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking, Morton?”

His friend, his eyes a little glazed, gave a slight shrug. “What? I do not understand what the matter is!”

Seeing a slight alcove, George shoved Lord Morton toward it. “You have got me married off to Lady Ellen, that is the problem!”

Lord Morton turned toward him, goggling at him. “You have agreed to marry her?”

“What else could I do?” George hissed, his hands slowly curling into fists, as he realized just how much of an imbecile Lord Morton was. “You had me over a barrel.”

Lord Morton gaped at him for a moment, his jaw slack.

“Why on earth were you following me?”

“To win the bet,” Morton replied with a frown.

“Then why make our presence known to the other guests?” George asked, his low voice harsh and grating as a vision of him slamming his fist into Lord Morton’s face overtook him. “What possessed you to call out in such a way? The lady’s reputation is now perilously in danger of ruination thanks to you.”

Slowly, Lord Morton’s face grew pale, as he suddenly seemed to realize just how angry George really was.

“I did not think anything would come of it,” he mumbled, looking away. “It was just a bit of a laugh. Why would you mind if there was dirt clinging to a lady’s name anyway? It is not as though you have ever cared about your own reputation, nor for anyone else’s before now.”

Closing his eyes, George let out a long breath and tried to shake some of the tension from his body. What Lord Morton said was quite true, and the thought of it made him sick. Lord Morton had assumed that this was something George would be able to laugh off, that he would not care if the lady in question would be, somehow, tainted by his presence and effect on her – and had he been the man of only a few weeks ago, then that would have been entirely true.

For the first time, George saw himself in the light of how others must see him. There was filth clinging to his name, filth that he had never cared much for before now. How much Lady Ellen must despise him. How much he despised himself!

“You are not to breathe a word of this, Morton, do you understand?” George hissed, leaning closer to the man. “If you say a word about Lady Ellen to anyone, then I shall have your head.”

Lord Morton blinked, the last traces of good humor sliding from his face.

“We are no longer friends,” George finished, his anger burning like a slow, heated fire. “I will not even consider you an acquaintance, Morton. After what you have done, how can I consider you a companion of mine?”

Frowning, Lord Morton’s eyes glazed with confusion. “I do not understand,” he muttered, passing one hand over his eyes. “This is all much too puzzling.”

George drew in a deep breath, desperate to turn away from Lord Morton before he did something he would regret. “I am to be wed, Morton,” he said calmly. “I am to marry Lady Ellen, and you are to keep your silence about what went on in the gardens, or else I shall call you out for damaging my wife’s reputation. Do you understand?”

Lord Morton’s eyes widened, and he gave a jerky nod as George continued to glare at him.

“Good,” George said, firmly. “Now, do excuse me. I do not think I have anything more to say to you.”

Turning on his heel, George stormed away from Lord Morton, anger and shame burning at his very soul. It was little wonder than Lady Ellen thought so poorly of him.

As he left the ballroom, his mortification hanging on him like a cloak, George realized that he did not think so very highly of himself either, for he was not a decent man. He was a cruel, foolish, selfish man, who was now to marry a lady who was, in all ways, better than he. His wife would be the sweet, kind, and now entirely broken Lady Ellen.