Chapter Eight: Page Two

What a harsh jest Fate might have played on her — teaching her the truth of her feelings only to place her in a situation where she might have to wed a man she could not love. She wanted to burrow under the bedclothes and weep her heart out. But she did not. She was a woman now, Selphie reminded herself. Not a flighty girl who would let starlight fancies blind her to the ripe golden promise of every day. A woman must be willing to strive for what she wanted in life, make firm choices, then live with the consequences and make all she could out of them. Which meant, she must undertake the most difficult task she had ever set herself. She must talk honestly and intimately with Irvine Kinneas and compel him to answer her in kind.
Irvine's courage almost deserted him when he spied Selphie marching toward him through the orangery of Helmhurst. She had a determined look on her face and in her hand she clutched the black mask he'd worn the previous night. The mask behind which he had hidden to deceive and seduce her. The moment he'd feared for so long had come at last. In fact, it would be worse than he had feared, for not only would he lose any hope of Selphie's love, he would also lose her respect and her friendship. He had not treasured those two precious gifts highly enough. "Irvine?" Selphie's face looked pale and there were dusky shadows beneath her eyes. Irvine had never seen her so resolute nor so achingly beautiful. "Do you know anything about this?" She held out the mask. "I must have the truth now, mind. For the sake of a very long and dear acquaintance." A dear acquaintance against which he had so despicably transgressed. Irvine reached for her hand as he sank to his knees. "I would beg your forgiveness, but I fear that would be asking the impossible. I admit I wore that mask last night, and Zell's costume as well. I'd overheard the two of you talking in the garden the night before and planning to meet." He did not tell her that Lord Leonhart had provided him with the costume. The blame was his for putting it to the use he had. Before Selphie could berate him, he rushed on, desperate to make a clean breast of it. "I was a rank scoundrel to deceive you and compromise you as I did last night. My only feeble excuse is that I have loved you so long and, lately, with so little hope."