Even hours after Lucian had left, his scent lingered on Maeve's sheets. Upon waking up on Saturday, she pushed her face into the pillow he'd used, inhaling his familiar smell deep into her lungs. That didn't fail to instantly put her in a splendid mood.
Stretching her sore limbs, she grinned at the ceiling, images of their intense night filling her mind. Even though he'd left relatively early, right before midnight, they'd taken as much as they could physically endure to compensate for the upcoming weeks. Being deprived of him entirely would be hard, but knowing they'd be married soon made up for it handsomely.
Gauging the intensity of the light in her room, Maeve tried to guess what time it was. It wouldn't surprise her to learn it was already past noon, since the day seemed well-advanced. Thankfully, no one bothered her in the mornings anymore, especially following an evening out. Ailia might have been a morning person, but Maeve wasn't, and more than once had she made it known.
Adamant to linger into the Lucian-scented sheets, she rolled on her stomach, relenting to get out of bed. Her body was still highly aware of his lewd ministrations, her skin tingling as if still under his touch, the tips of her breasts sensitive and needy, and that spot between her legs tender. The ghost of him was everywhere on her, and she was certain she'd be reminded of him every time she sat — the entire day and maybe the day after, too. Unsparing, he'd given her everything she'd asked for and more, his stamina astonishing as usual.
Outside in the hallway, she heard a commotion. Although she'd gladly spend the day in bed to recuperate from Lucian's attentions, it reminded her there was much to be done. In five days, the whole family was leaving the London terrasse to travel back to Leeds. After the engagement's announcement on Monday in the newspapers, it was certain they would receive many calls from acquaintances and friends, so there wouldn't be much time for packing then.
Her limbs ached when she rolled out of bed, exposing her bare body to the air of the room. She was growing increasingly comfortable in her nudity, despite over twenty-four years of clinging with fierceness to her modesty. Lucian was devilishly good at making all her inhibitions lower.
More ruckus came from outside, so she covered herself with her dressing gown before someone decided to storm in. She was just done doing the last button when the door flung open.
Startled, she turned to the invasive newcomer, ready to sermon whoever it was about manners. As she saw Ailia's enraged expression, she recoiled, wondering what on earth was happening.
Her twin made her way toward Maeve, clenching a newspaper in her angry fist, and their mother entered the room as well, alarmed.
"How could you do this?!" Ailia shouted, throwing the crumpled paper at her.
Appalled, Maeve swung her arm to intercept the projectile's course, sending it toward the floor instead. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"You promised, Maeve! You promised you wouldn't tell him!"
"What— What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb with me. Yesterday you told me you wanted to let him know the truth, and today it's all over the news. You did this! You ruined our family! You ruined my life!"
A sense of pure dread invaded Maeve's mind. A part of her was already understanding what her twin was saying, even though her mind couldn't accept it yet. This was impossible. What was she talking about?
Looking down at the paper on the floor, Maeve's heart dropped low into her chest as she read the title on the front page of it. The little air that remained in her lungs was expelled at once at the dreadful words imprinted there. The Scandalous Truth Behind the Duke of Leeds' Family.
No. This wasn't possible. No one knew, no one had ever spoken. Whatever this was, it couldn't be real. She was dreaming. She must have been.
The loud thumping of her heart was hammering into her ears, muffling any other sound. Ailia was spewing more accusations toward her, and their mother was holding Maeve's shoulders, saying something as well. Eventually, the soothing voice of her mother brought her back, and she could make out the question she'd been repeating.
"Maeve, angel, did you tell the truth to Worthington?"
"I— Yes, but it's not him. It can't be him. Mama, I swear it's not. He wouldn't do this."
"Who else could it be, then?" Ailia interrupted with sarcasm.
"Ailia, calm down," their mother intervened. "Maeve, darling, why would you even tell him?"
"I could not lie to him. Not about this. He had the right to know before it was too late."
"Oh, you foolish girl..." In her mother's eyes, she detected understanding, but also some guilt. After all, Maeve and her siblings were innocent in this matter. They were the unwilling victims of their parents' reprehensible behavior.
"But he was fine with it, it didn't bother him. I'm telling you, this isn't coming from him," Maeve insisted, pointing at the journal on the floor.
"This is too big of a coincidence," Ailia insisted. "No one has spoken in nearly two decades, and hours after you run your tongue, everyone learns of it?"
"He loves me. He wouldn't do this to me!"
"Are you certain he loves you?"
Ailia's question shouldn't have made Maeve doubt so much. Lucian had shown he loved her in so many ways. She was certain his feelings matched hers. But he'd never actually professed more than tender affections, and she couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't read into it too much. What if he wasn't actually in love, but only infatuated?
He should have told her by now. He'd had countless opportunities to do it. They'd been intimate for a month, they were to marry, she'd said it several times... Lucian truly would have told her by now if he was, indeed, in love with her.
Glimpsing at the paper on the floor, its black letters tormenting her, Maeve's thoughts spiraled. What if he'd told anyone what she'd confessed to him? He would hardly go to the publisher himself, but what if he'd told someone?
Upon leaving during the night, he'd told her he wanted to find Delawney, arguing he couldn't leave things like this between them. Had he told his friend the truth about her, maybe in an attempt to lessen the blow? John didn't seem like someone who would expose such a secret, but given how hurt he'd been, he might have, as a way to retaliate.
Maeve's head spun from the conflicting thoughts overtaking her mind. Ailia was right. The coincidence was too staggering. Somehow, revealing their secret to Lucian had caused this. She'd ruined her family's reputation. Destroyed her siblings' chances at a happy life.
She'd done this.
Devastated by the thought, Maeve's limbs gave up, as if under tremendous pressure. She barely noticed her mother and Ailia trying to prevent her fall, a veil of darkness swallowing her surroundings.
When she woke up again, Maeve was disoriented, unsure how she'd ended up in her bed, wearing her dressing gown and nothing else. Outside, the day was slowly fading into night, which added to her confusion.
As she straightened up, she noticed a chair that had been set by her side, as if someone had been sitting there, watching over her.
All at once, what had happened came back to her. The paper... Her family's darkest and deepest secret had been exposed, and it was all her fault. A new surge of panic spread through her, her breathing shallow and tears of distress filling her eyes. Lucian had betrayed her trust, and her world was ending, sentenced to death by society.
Feeling herself slip into a numbing state of panic, Maeve focused on her breathing, refusing to let her overwhelming emotions get the best of her again. She needed to think, to assess just how terrible the situation was.
With a glimpse around, she noticed the newspaper. It had been uncrumpled, folded, and was awaiting on her nightstand by the chair someone had sat in. When she reached for it, her hand was slightly trembling, but she ignored it, knowing she needed to read whatever lay within. Maybe there would be some information she hadn't told Lucian, which would then mean he wasn't the source of the leak.
Reading the article inside demanded so much more courage than she'd thought. She was forced to take several breaks, to wipe the silent tears rolling down her cheeks, and deep breaths to chase away the pressure growing in her chest.
Every single thing in it could have come from Lucian. Some details were unknown to anyone other than her, her twin, their parents, and him. Like the way her father found them again, out of sheer luck in Bristol. Only her father's footman knew the story, and Lambert's legendary loyalty hadn't wavered to this day.
The old family butler had known as well, but Appleton had loved the twins as his own all the way to his death, three years ago. There was no way he could have spoken to anyone about the truth, either.
No, the only thing that made sense, the only thing that could explain why all this was happening now, was that Lucian had talked. Somehow, the information she had given him had ended up in this shameless newspaper, which hadn't hesitated to ruin her family's happiness to sell more issues.
A noise to her left startled her, and her eyes rushed to its origin. Lucian had just entered her room, coming in through the open window, as he was used to doing. Her heart ached and expanded at the same time. Part of her was elated to see him, needing his solid support and comforting embrace. But another part was tormented by his presence. He'd done this to her. The man she desperately loved had pushed her into this dreadful nightmare. How could he do this to her?
Enraged, she pushed the covers away and stood on weak knees. "What are you doing here!" she vehemently whispered, her tears of rage so close her visions became blurry.
In a matter of seconds, she was in front of him, harshly shoving his chest. "How dare you come after what you've done?"
Since she worried someone from the household might catch them, she tried to contain her voice, but the urge to shout at him was strong. Something dark and apologetic crossed his face. The face she'd kissed all over, the one she'd come to love desperately, the one that had spent hours between her legs... Why would he ruin it all like this?
"Maeve, I'm so sorry. I wanted to see you sooner, but they wouldn't let me. I wasn't even allowed in the hall. And someone was guarding the gate, so I had to find another way into the garden."
"Then you shouldn't have come. I don't want to see you, Lucian." More tears gathered in her eyes. Now that she was with him, her earlier determination wavered. Some part of her still believed he would never do such a thing to her. He'd never hurt her like that, never betray her trust.
But he wasn't defending himself. He wasn't claiming his innocence, forcing her to listen to his alibi and unquestionable excuses.
"Maeve, I..." He hesitated, and only then did she see the freight in his eyes, how distraught he was. He was scared — immensely so. There was something hollow in his green eyes, and it ripped her heart in half. The slim glimmer of hope she might have had died right there.
"Please, Lucian... Tell me you didn't do this."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I did," he confessed.
The world shattered around her, her knees turning so weak they bucked and she nearly lost her balance. Lucian was swift to catch her, preventing her fall, but she immediately ripped herself from his hold, pushing harshly against his chest again. He had no right to touch her. Not anymore.
"How could you do this to me!" she accused, tears of rage and incomprehension flowing down her cheeks. "I trusted you, Lucian."
"I made an error of judgment, Maeve. I never meant to hurt you. Never. Please, listen to me... I didn't mean for any of it to happen."
"An error of judgment? You think, really? By revealing a secret I insisted was fundamental you kept to yourself?"
He sighed, struggling to find a way to make her understand whatever was going on within him. But Maeve knew. No matter what he said, nothing could forgive what he'd done.
"After I left you, I went to find John at his favored club," he explained. "He was playing cards with Ackley and a few others. I pulled him aside, trying to reason with him. But things didn't go well, and everything was even worse when we parted. I was pissed at him and at myself, so I left and went to the nearest pub. I started drinking out of anger and frustration. I didn't know what to do, how to salvage any of it."
Lucian then hesitated, sending her a deeply apologetic frown. "There was this man, drunk off his face. He could barely stand, but he asked what was going on with me. And I don't know what happened to me. Maybe it was the alcohol, the stress, the need to confide in someone... I spoke to that man. I'm not sure just how much I told him because I had been drinking too much. I barely remember anything past the fourth glass. I figured he was too inebriated to even remember anything. Maeve, I wouldn't have told him a single word if I'd thought it could backfire. The man looked like he was hours from dying of cirrhosis."
"This secret wasn't yours to share... Regardless of your interlocutor, you had no right to speak of it."
"I know. My love, please..." She evaded the hand that tried to reach her once more, gazing at it with a mix of need and hatred. Even now, his embrace and solid support was the only one that could make her feel better. The only one she desired.
"He did remember, Lucian," she said in a weakened voice. "He remembered, and he decided to make money out of it. He threw my family to the wolves for a few coins so he could keep drinking his way into an early grave."
Desperate to win her forgiveness, he approached her, his hand reaching for her arm. But she avoided it once more, knowing she'd lose her restraint if any physical contact occurred.
"I can't believe you did this," she struggled to say. "I entrusted you with a confession no one had spoken of in nearly twenty years. And hours later, you shared it with a perfect stranger. Do you have so little consideration for me?"
"No, it's not that, Maeve. Never that. I don't know what came over me. I was lost, confused, drunk, and angry at John and myself. I just... My tongue loosened. As I said, I'm not even sure just how much I told him. I can't remember most of my stay in the pub. But I would have never given him any name. I vaguely remember him falling asleep in the midst of it, but I imagine he feigned it. There are no words to express just how terribly sorry I am for all this, darling."
The sweet endearment hit Maeve like a sharp blade right into her heart. It was hard for her to think, her head aching and overcrowded. Her stomach was filled with knots, her mind spiraling with anxiety. Lucian's senseless actions had destroyed her family's reputation. He'd ruined her life and the ones of her siblings.
"Maeve, this doesn't have to change anything," he pleaded, tears gathering in his beautiful eyes. "We can still marry, and I'll spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness. I'll do anything. Whatever it takes. I can't lose you."
"Nothing could ever be enough, Lucian. Can you erase all the wrong you've done to my family? Can you make sure Ailia gets to marry the man she loves, despite the scandal? Can you ensure that my four-year-old sister won't have a lifetime of sideway glares and hushed gossip everywhere she goes? Can you lift the shame your actions have put on my mother, the best, most selfless woman I know?"
Something died in his eyes as he understood there was no way he'd ever repent for his actions. Maeve's tears came back, but this time they were of grief. Their story was over, and despite how much she'd wanted it, she would never grow old by his side, never become his wife, never bear their children... Their dream life was gone before they'd even had a chance.
"If it were only me, I might forgive you, Lucian," she told him, her voice trembling and small. "I could put all of this behind, marry you, and spend the rest of my life loving you. But my entire family is concerned. My siblings will suffer from this for the rest of their lives. My parents will never be seen in the same way again. The Langston bloodline will be shamed for generations. Everyone will—"
"To hell with them," he pleaded, desperate in his intensity. "Damned be everyone else. You've never cared about what they said. Don't start now. I love you, Maeve. I need you, and I always will."
His declaration of love, which she'd been so eager to hear for weeks, didn't ignite in her the feelings she'd thought it would. All it brought was more pain, more misery. It didn't matter if he loved her anymore. It was too late. She wasn't his to love anymore.
"Lucian... You need to leave. This is over. We cannot ever... I can't—"
Her shallow lungs weren't enough anymore, and she was forced to stop, unable to breathe. Before she could prevent it, Lucian came to her in two quick steps. The instant he welcomed her into his embrace, the little strength she had left shattered into a thousand pieces. In his powerful arms, she felt both full and empty. Full of him, of her love for him, and hollow of hope, deprived of the future they were owed.
"Maeve... Marry me. I can't live without you. I need you. Like I've never needed anyone before."
"Don't you see I can't? It would mean choosing you over my family, and I can't do this to them, not after what you've done. More than ever, my siblings need me. We need each other. You ruined it, Lucian. You ruined everything."
"What if... what if you're with child? Maeve, after last night—"
"I'm not. I won't be. Please, you have to go."
Although she knew it was over, part of her refused to let it end. Helpless against the crumbling intensity of her emotion, she remained against him, taking in his heat, his scent, and his broadness one very last time.
To her despair, the door opened next to them, and they instantly stepped away from one another. Ashamed to have been caught in the arms of the man who'd betrayed her entire family, Maeve's eyes traveled to the newcomer. Four eyes similar to hers went back and forth between her and the intruder, until her father eventually reacted.
"Get out of my house this instant, Worthington," the duke ordered. His voice contained more hatred and threat than Maeve had ever heard from him. Dread overtook her mind, and Ailia glared at her with reproach, adding to her great shame.
"Leeds, I—" Lucian attempted.
"Out! Haven't you done enough as it is?! Do you wish to compromise my daughter more than you already have this entire household?"
"I never intended to—"
"It's too late! Leave before I'm forced to challenge you to a duel for the sake of my family's reputation!"
"Papa, no!" Maeve begged.
Watching her father and Lucian attempt to kill one another would be her end. She loved both men too much to bear the idea. There would be no winner, and her heart would never heal, knowing she was the cause of it all. She turned to the man she'd imagined an entire future with, barely seeing him through her tears.
"Please, leave," she pleaded. "And never come back."
He hesitated, his gaze wavering between her and her father, briefly halting on her sister. If he thought he could win their approval, he was severely mistaken. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever make what he'd done go away.
Despite everything, despite all she'd believed, they weren't meant to be in the end. It didn't matter how much she loved the man, how perfect their union would have been. It wasn't destined to be.
With her eyes, she begged him to comply, for her own sake. Eventually, Lucian agreed, and without a word, he headed to the window. He gave her one last glance, full of promises and determination, but she swiftly looked away, refusing to acknowledge it. It was over. He'd ruined everything.
As soon as he'd leapt over the wall, back into the garden, her father went to the window and closed it with angered gestures. He came in front of Maeve in long strides, and the disappointment in the look he gave her tore her heart a little further.
"This window is to remain locked until we leave," he ordered. Her entire body shuddered at her father's tone. He'd never treated her like this in the past, had never even raised his voice at her in anger. "Do not challenge me on this, Maeve, or I'll have someone seal it. If you see him again, you'll be sent to a convent in France. Is that clear?"
Unable to speak, the lump in her throat too dense, she nodded.
Knowing how much she'd disappointed him was the last drop, and yet another surge of tears overwhelmed her. She watched as the duke exited her room and then turned to her sister for comfort. But Ailia harbored just as much rancor if not more, and after one last glare full of accusations, she left Maeve alone in her room.
For hours, she cried and cried, rivers of pain and guilt. Lucian had betrayed her. He's shared her secret with another man, despite his promise not to do so. If he loved her, if he truly loved her as he'd claimed, he wouldn't have done such a thing. He'd have kept her revelations to himself.
But in the end, as much as she wanted to blame him for it all, she was the one truly responsible for this debacle. Her judgment of Lucian had been wrong, blinded by love and affection. She should have known. She should have upheld her promise to Ailia and shouldn't have said a thing.
If only she'd done that... Her family wouldn't be in the great distress she'd put them in, and she would still be marrying the man she loved.
What a fool she'd been...