Page 50 of The Wedding Challenge

Her face was hard and bitter, and her brother regarded her with some shock. “Daphne! I have never heard you speak so…look so…”

“Try living trapped in Wales for the last fifteen years with some horrid old man!” she cried. “Never able to come to London or have any fun. A trip to Bath was considered his utmost treat! And all the while I was getting older, losing my looks….” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Daphne…” Her tears touched him, dissolving much of his anger, and Bromwell went to her, putting his arm around her. “I am sorry. I hate that you had to marry an old man whom you did not love. And then to lose your unborn child after making that sacrifice…It was terrible, and you should not have had to do it. I wish that I had been older, wiser. I should have done something besides rush in there and try to call Rochford out. I wish to God that I had been able to help you. But you are not old, and you are still the most beautiful woman in London.”

Daphne relaxed against him at his words, and she turned her face up to him, smiling despite the tears glittering like diamonds in her eyes. “Really? Do you truly think I am the most beautiful woman in London?”

The thought of Callie flashed into his head, but he pushed the image aside, saying stoutly, “Of course I do. You are. You always have been. You know that.”

“There. I knew you could not love her more than you do me,” she said with satisfaction, wiping away her tears with her fingers.

“Love her more than you! Of course not,” Bromwell said, reaching into his pocket and handing her his crisp white handkerchief. He released her shoulders and stepped away. “How could you possibly think that? I do not love her at all. I simply do not want an innocent person hurt. The Duke of Rochford is the only one I care to harm. I told you that when we talked before. I never meant to ruin her. Only to bring Rochford out of his den and force him to deal with me.”

“And what did you think would happen to her?” Daphne asked. “How could you harm Rochford without harming his sister? If you dance attendance on a woman, she is bound to expect something of you. A gentleman does not lavish attention on a woman unless he is trying to seduce her or he expects to ask for her hand. It is certainly an embarrassment if he does not then make her an offer. All of the ton will gossip about it.”

“But I have only begun courting her. I have not—” He stopped.

“You have not what? Called upon her practically every day?” Daphne asked. “Invited her to go riding at Richmond Park or taken her out in your curricle? Or popped up at every party she has attended?”

Bromwell frowned. “I have perhaps hung about her more than I had intended,” he admitted. “I had not expected her to be quite so assiduously chaperoned, I think. I had thought I would be able to spend more time with her alone.”

“That is precisely why I arranged that little interlude at Vauxhall Gardens,” Daphne exclaimed triumphantly. “So that you could have the opportunity to be alone with her. If there is no whiff of scandal, why should Rochford be alarmed?”

He sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. “I don’t know what to say. If you are right, then I have already harmed her.”

“That is right,” Daphne agreed. “So…”

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“What?” Daphne gaped at him, thunderstruck. “You mean, end this? Do nothing to her? To Rochford?”

His mouth twitched in a grim semblance of a smile. “I have hopes I still will hear from Rochford.”

“But Lady Calandra? You are going to stop pursuing her?”

“I am not sure,” he said, looking distracted. “I must think on this.”

His sister opened her mouth to speak again, but he was no longer paying attention. Turning, he strode toward the door and down the hall, leaving Daphne staring after him.

Bromwell took his greatcoat and hat from the footman and went outside. He jammed the hat down on his head, and threw on his coat as he trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk. A breeze fluttered at the edges of the fabric and stole beneath it, but he did not bother to do up the buttons as he strode along the street, scowling.

Should he stop calling upon Callie? Something twisted inside him at the thought, and he knew that he did not want to end this. He thought of her smile, her dancing dark eyes, the thick lustrous black curls that made his fingers itch to touch them. The idea of never seeing those things again, never again enfolding her in his arms or pressing his lips to hers as he had tonight, made him want to smash his fist into something.

Yet if he continued to see her, how would it end? In all likelihood with himself and Callie’s brother at each other’s throats. It would be pistols at dawn or, at best, them going at each other with their bare fists. The one way it was certain not to end was with what polite society would expect—Bromwell proposing marriage to her. He let out a snort at the picture of Rochford’s reaction should Bromwell ask him for his sister’s hand in marriage.

Rochford would never allow it. And, of course, Bromwell knew that he would never ask it. Ally himself with the family of the man who had disgraced his sister? It was unthinkable. It would be a betrayal of Daphne, a thoroughly dishonorable thing to do.

If he had no intention of marrying Callie, though, he should not continue seeing her. Daphne was right, of course. His pursuit of Callie had been determined. Everyone, including Callie, would expect a proposal of marriage from him if he continued to court her in this way. Even after the few weeks that he had been calling on her, it would cause gossip if he suddenly stopped seeing her.

The thought of Callie being subjected to the whispers of the gossipmongers twisted his gut, but he knew that it would be much, much worse if he waited. Every day, every nosegay delivered to her house, every dance they shared at a ball, would increase everyone’s certainty that he was on course to propose to her. Therefore, when he stopped seeing her, it would make the gossip all the stronger.

And if it ended with Rochford exploding in anger and rushing to town to confront him, then the scandal would be even graver. It would probably follow Callie all her life.

Bromwell’s scowl deepened. Why had he ever thought that wooing Callie would be such perfect revenge on Rochford? He should have just settled his account with the man with a swift right uppercut to the jaw then and there. After all, none of this had anything to do with Callie. She had done nothing to deserve it, and yet she would be hurt worst of all by it.

He remembered his words to Archie, how he had shrugged off the idea that Callie was an innocent and did not deserve to be hurt. He had gotten angry with Daphne just now for doing something that could hurt Callie’s reputation. Yet he had set out to get his revenge without caring at all how badly she might be hurt by his scheme. He had been a fool, he thought, a shallow, callous fool.

There was no way he could make up for the harm he had already done to her. The only thing he could do was to ensure she was not hurt any more. He would not call upon Callie again. But why did doing the right thing leave him feeling so empty inside?