“I am not in the habit of lying.” Charlotte bit her lip against the jarring self-reproach that assailed her. For now, she would not consider herself guilty of lying by omission. Circumstance required it. “I only ask that you grant me the same privacy,” she continued. “I know better than anyone what it feels like to be judged not on merit but on…appearances.” At least that was the truth.

He had the grace to redden slightly. “Yes,” he said slowly. “That’s fair.”

“Thank you.” Though if the worst happened, if her true identity was discovered, she doubted that he would still agree. She didn’t think he would be quite so benevolent should she be revealed as a rich, titled woman.

“You should know that Lady Cecelia was—is—a woman with unlimited wealth and vast connections. She is an enthusiastic patron of the arts,” Rutledge said with a twist to his lips. “And as such, there are many who accused me of using her to advance my career. Accused me of sleeping with her to gain entrance to the hallowed halls of society where our sort will never be welcome.”

“You don’t need to tell me—”

“I want to.” He had a strange expression on his face. “You are bound to hear it eventually, and I would prefer you hear it from me. I would prefer that—” He stopped. “I did not use her. She used me. Fancied me as nothing more than a wicked diversion, something more scintillating than the civilized gentlemen who pursued her. And something easily cast aside and replaced when she tired of it.”

“I’m sorry.” This time Charlotte did say it. Because being cast aside by those who were supposed to love you was something that she understood better than anyone.

His lip curled, and he looked down at his mug. “Just heed my advice, Mr. Beaumont. Do not do what I did. Do not trust your ambitions and your dreams and your secrets to another. If you are to survive in this world, you need to fight all your own battles. Every single one. You need to have your own back.”

“I agree,” Charlotte said simply.

Rutledge’s eyes slowly climbed back to hers, a wary look in his eye like he had been expecting her to argue. “Lady Cecelia was…” He stopped and shook his head.

“A mistake,” Charlotte said.

“A mistake,” Rutledge repeated as though he thought Charlotte might be mocking him.

“A mistake,” she said again, feeling the weight of this exchange. “A mistake to be treated in the exact same manner that you treat a success.” She ignored the incredulous look he was giving her. “Mistakes and successes both have the same power—to be destructive or constructive. Dwell on either too long and they will both prevent you from moving forward. Learn from your mistakes and your successes in equal measure, and they will both make you better.”