The Heiress - Lynsay Sands [87]
“What the devil happened to you?” Richard asked with amazement as he led Robert to the bed.
“I was shot,” Daniel said.
Richard frowned, but Robert snapped, “It was probably the Fates punishing you.”
“Punishing me for what?” he asked with surprise.
“For breaking Suzette’s heart,” he growled. “She was crushed when she got your letter.”
“What letter?” Daniel asked, glancing from one man to the other with confusion.
“The letter you left saying you had changed your mind,” Robert answered, but was starting to sound a little less angry. His expression turning uncertain, he asked, “You did send a letter to the inn for Suzette saying you were breaking it off and wouldn’t marry her?”
Daniel shook his head firmly. “I never sent any such letter.”
When Robert and Richard just stared at him blankly, Daniel’s mother said, “I can assure you he left no such letter. He has just told me he’d come to collect me to attend his wedding and has been trying to get up to return to the inn almost since he awoke. He appears quite eager to marry the young woman.”
“Hmm,” Richard muttered, his expression troubled as he glanced to Robert.
“I think someone had best start explaining things,” Lady Woodrow said firmly. “I hardly think it was an accident that this young lady received a letter breaking the engagement and my son was shot, all at the same time. There must be some connection.”
Chapter Twelve
For one blessed moment when she first woke, Suzette didn’t recall anything, but then she became aware of her sore throat and gritty eyes, and recalled crying herself to sleep and why, and a small pitiful sigh slid from her lips as memory came crashing in. She was a fallen woman, abandoned on the morning of her wedding and left sullied and unmarriageable. At least, most men would think so.
“You’re awake.”
Suzette stilled and glanced to the girl who had apparently been seated by the fireplace. Lisa. She was standing now and moving toward her.
“How do you feel?”
Suzette shrugged and sat up, avoiding her gaze as she did, but then she asked, “I suppose you hate me too?”
“No, of course not, and neither does Christiana,” Lisa said at once, hurrying the last few feet to sit on the bed next to her. “You ordered her from the room before she could say anything. She isn’t angry with you. She understands. You love Daniel and wanted to express that physically. It’s natural.”
“I don’t love him,” Suzette muttered.
Lisa looked at her with patent disbelief. “Suzette, you have been following the man around like a puppy for days now. And if you do not love him, you are certainly doing a very good impression of heartbreak.”
Frowning, Suzette lowered her head. She was sure she didn’t love him. She couldn’t. And yet the pain when she’d read the letter, the ache in her chest just at the thought of never seeing him again, the anguish as she’d wept . . .
“You love him,” Lisa said quietly. “I know you. You have probably been telling yourself it was just convenience, and handy that the two of you had needs that fit each other, one needing a bride with a dower, the other needing a husband in need of a dower . . .” She shook her head. “But your eyes lit up every time he walked into the room and you hung on his every word. And the passion you felt and shared with him . . .” She shrugged. “That is love. You do love him.”
“For all the good it does me,” she muttered with disgust.
“Oh,” Lisa hugged her tightly. “I felt sure he loved you too, Suzette. Maybe he is just afraid—or something. Maybe—”
“Maybe my loose behavior disgusted him,” she said dryly. “Maybe he fears I am like this with every man.”
“Oh, I am sure that is not true,” she said, her expression troubled. “He would have to know it was your first time. The streams of blood and horrible pain would have—”
“There were no streams of blood or horrible pain,” Suzette said unhappily. “In fact, there was hardly any pain. A little pinch perhaps, and an