The silence in the carriage vibrated with hostility. Poor Erskine looked like he was in terrible pain, and as if he wished he’d stayed behind with Brock’s horses. She couldn’t blame him. Lord Derwent regarded her as if she was mud beneath his feet. Which was the height of hypocrisy, given that his long-term mistress had been a guest at the recent house party. The highborn ladies might have turned their noses up at Selina, but her presence hadn’t restrained their gossiping tongues.
She flinched. Gossiping tongues that would soon flap with tales of the rake, the social-climbing Midas, and the wanton widow.
Cecil sat fuming in the corner. His large body seemed to swell, until it took up more than its share of space. Even unspoken, his rage threatened to blister her skin.
"We’re almost at the inn," Derwent said in a distant voice.
Selina should be relieved, but she was sickly aware that once she reached the Blue Wagon, the rest of her life would start. Right now, even the prospect of traveling forever with a livid Cecil and a contemptuous Lord Derwent was preferable to facing up to the unholy mess she’d made of everything.
As she turned away from the window, she made the mistake of catching Cecil’s eye. He glared at her as if he hated her. What else did she expect?
But since the accident, curiosity had eaten at her. At last, she dared to ask the question that puzzled her. "Why are you here? I thought you were heading north to see your mill managers."
A sneer twisted his thick lips. "And I thought you were going back to London to prepare for our wedding. It seemed we were both mistaken." His sarcasm turned vicious. "I was indeed mistaken in the virtuous Widow Martin."
She couldn’t contain a faint whimper of distress, although more and worse awaited, now her liaison with Brock was sure to become public knowledge.
"I asked Mr. Canley-Smythe to return early from his factories, as I wished to discuss our business at greater length than we managed during the house party," Lord Derwent said.
"A good thing his lordship invited me," Cecil snapped. "Or I’d find myself bound to a woman I’m now ashamed to claim as an acquaintance."
Selina bit her lip and reminded herself that she wouldn’t cry in front of Cecil. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But it was plaguey difficult to hold onto her composure.
"Nothing to say, Selina?" he jeered.
She could see he was disappointed that she wasn’t biting back. But what could she say? He had a right to his temper. She’d betrayed and humiliated him in the worst possible way. And while he might be a bully and a boor, he didn’t deserve this.
"Just that I’m sorry, Cecil," she said in a quiet voice, as she linked shaking hands together in her lap. "I have wronged you unforgivably, and there’s nothing I can do to make amends."
He went on needling her. "I’ll wager you’re sorry. You’ve lost an honorable place as a rich man’s wife, in exchange for a few days in a debauchee’s filthy bed. You’ve proven yourself a slut, madam. And a stupid slut to boot."
"Canley-Smythe, that’s enough," Derwent snapped, as Selina bit so hard on her lip, she tasted blood.
Cecil’s jaw set in an austere line, but he bowed his head to Derwent. "Your pardon, my lord. The strength of my feelings overcame me."
Derwent’s tone remained forbidding. "I can understand you’re suffering a disappointment, but do me the courtesy of containing yourself while in my company."
"My apologies," Cecil said stiffly, but the scowl he leveled on Selina told her that he had plenty more to say and he intended to find an opportunity say it.
God help her.
***
At the Blue Wagon, Kitty must have been waiting beside the front door, because she rushed out across the bustling yard in a fluster of relief as soon as Lord Derwent handed Selina from his carriage.
"Miss Selina, thank heaven! I’ve been that worried about you. I feared some mishap." Kitty’s gaze sharpened on her. "Lordy, madam, are you all right? You look terrible."
Selina supposed that "some mishap" could describe the day’s calamities. She mustered a smile and struggled to sound as if her life hadn’t come to an end. "There was a carriage accident, but I wasn’t injured. Just a few bruises. Where is John? I’d like to leave for London straightaway."
The yard was crowded, and there was no sign of Brock. He hadn’t passed them on the road, but she’d hoped he wasn’t far behind. Luck didn’t shine on her today. She was vaguely aware of Cecil climbing out of the carriage. Lord Derwent stood a few feet away, ordering assistance for Erskine and requesting a parlor for his use.
She shrank from the curious glances aimed at the new arrivals. Nobody would miss the disheveled woman exiting the stylish equipage in the company of two well-to-do gentlemen and an injured man. She wished she could hide under her bonnet, but she’d left it back in the wrecked carriage.
Selina felt close to shattering. All the emotional turmoil of leaving the hunting box, then the accident, and now this public humiliation – humiliation sure to worsen as the scandal spread – overwhelmed her. She stumbled as she advanced toward the inn’s entrance.
"Madam, let me help you." When Kitty placed a supportive arm around Selina’s waist, she sagged into her maid’s grasp. The girl lowered her voice. "I thought I might see a certain gentleman with you."
Selina spoke under her breath, too. "The earl is following on horseback."