The startled maid screamed at the sight of him standing naked in the hallway.
He stepped back and slammed the door again, muttering an apology to the girl through the oak panel. Then he requested, as calmly as possible, that Benton be sent to his rooms immediately. Embarrassed by his own behaviour, Nate returned to the bed, wrapped himself in a sheet and rang for his valet as well.
Did she not see, after what they had done together, that this was about more than a few words scrawled by her father years before they met? He had done everything in his power to show her, to love her with his body and prove that his words were not lies.
Yet, she had ignored it and left him. And he felt more desolate than he did after a night at the tables, as though there was nothing and no one in the world to erase the loneliness.
As the valet dressed him, Benton explained that Miss Price had left before dawn and in rather a hurry. She had requested that he bring the carriage around for her. She had insisted that she was fine and that there was nothing to be concerned about.
Of course she would. She was always insisting that she was fine, needed nothing, and was perfectly happy. She needed no one. And she did it so convincingly, so placidly, and with not a drop of excess emotion that it took a professional gambler to see she was bluffing.
The old butler said it all with a distinct air of disapproval. As though it were not clear enough that he found his master's actions towards the young lady near to reprehensible.
As did Nathan. Damn his own pride for thinking that his skill as a lover would have been enough to hold her. She had made it plain that she detested him and would never forgive what he had done. He must be as base as she thought, if he assumed that she would throw over her deeply held beliefs after a few hours in bed with him.
And damn again to his promise that he would not seek her out once she left. If he had the honour he claimed, he could not go back on his word. Better to have begged forgiveness at the start. He should have gotten down on his knees before her and pled for another chance. It would have been easy enough. For when he had seen her, resplendent in a pool of green silk, her mouth the same Cupid's bow, and her eyes wide and innocent, he had been a willing supplicant. And then, she had toyed with him...
Was she an angel or a tormenter? It did not matter. She was perfection. He never should have let her escape.
As if to reinforce the opinion, his valet tugged so tightly upon his cravat that he was near to choking before the tying was through. It was hardly fair, for the man had not even been a servant of the Price household. He had arrived here along with Nate. But it was clear that he'd chosen to add to the silent chorus of contempt that had been building in this house since the day he'd met Diana Price.
All the more galling that he deserved what he got from them. Every arch look, every small shake of the head. Every indictment of his character. Every sniff of disapproval. They took his money easily enough, when it was time to collect their salaries. And he continued to play, telling himself that they depended on his gambling to pay their keep. It was his responsibility to continue.
But how much did he need, really? It had been almost honourable, when he'd had a mother and sisters to protect, however best he could. But once they were lost? He'd gathered enough winnings to support himself in luxury for the rest of his life. Gaming had become nothing more than a way to pass the time until the moment when some loser at the table decided to put a ball through him.
No more. Perhaps he could not stop going to the tables. For without Diana, what more was there left in his life? But he could stop keeping score. He glanced at the box on the dresser, full of signets, fobs, and bits and pieces of the lives of others. Each one a memory of a life he had changed.
And none of it all his fault. He had played and won, of course. But they had played as well, knowing that losing was all but inevitable. Did they not deserve some responsibility for their actions? If it was not his fault, then why did he keep the things? What earthly good did it do him to hang on to trinkets that meant nothing to him? And the damned letter. If he had refused it, or given it back? Then he would not be in the mess he was now.
He might never have met Diana.
But perhaps that was a good thing. For neither would he have lost her over nonsense. He was tired of being the sin eater for half of London. 'Benton, bring me paper. And string. Some small boxes, perhaps. I wish to post some packages.'