Page 25 of To Follow her Heart

Good God, perhaps Trevick had done them both a favour in taking him away. They’d had so much freedom, never a chaperone in sight, and they’d taken every advantage. As children they’d come to no harm, but with feelings like this between them…. With her passionate nature and him being a green fool, he’d likely have got her with child before she’d reached sixteen. The thought was sobering.

“I’m to be the Earl of Trevick,” he said, infusing the words with every ounce of pride he could muster, trying to make her believe it—trying to believe it himself. She must understand that he’d changed. She must see what he’d been turned into. He wasn’t the foolish boy who’d tumbled into love with her and followed wherever she led. He couldn’t be. Luke would be Trevick. “I have a responsibility to the title, to the family. It’s my duty to marry well and—”

“Do you love me?”

The question barged into his well-ordered explanation, destroying his concentration.

“What?” he asked, though he’d heard her well enough and was only buying time.

If he told her the truth, she’d never give up, she’d destroy them both.

She sat up and pushed an errant curl from her eyes. “I asked if you loved me.”

Her gaze on his was intent, unblinking.

“We’re too old for fairy tales, Kitty,” he said, forcing the words to sound cold and hard.

“Ah,” she said, sounding thoughtful. “You’ve forgotten the tale of Fionn mac Cumhaill.”

“Of course not,” he said, impatient now, though he ought not have answered at all. “Though he was hardly a fairy.”

Luke cursed himself for the observation. Just stick to the facts, you damn fool.

She smiled at him. “So, you will marry a duke’s daughter and be the Earl of Trevick and live happily ever after. That sounds more like a fairy story to me. One that you tell yourself because you’re too afraid to break the rules.”

There was no malice in her words, yet they struck at his heart. They both knew she was the bold one. She was the one who’d taken his hand and dragged him inside an abandoned house, rumoured to be haunted. She was the one who’d taken him searching for pirate treasure, hunting in caves along the shoreline and going home soaked to the skin, when the tide had come in too fast and nearly drowned them both.

He felt that same terror now, as if the sea was rushing at his heels, tugging at his feet and tearing the shingle from under him, forcing him to his knees. Except it wasn’t the sea, it was her, with her dark eyes so deep with love and wanting that he wanted to drown. He prayed for it, though he’d take her down with him.

“That’s not fair,” he said, hearing pain roughen the words and make them jagged with anger.

“No,” she said, soft and sorrowful. “I don’t suppose it is.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Well, then,” she said, sitting up and arranging her skirts like the young lady she was, as if the wild creature who’d taken him to the ground and would have taken him inside her was another girl altogether. “Don’t you think you’d better tell me the truth? All of it.”

Chapter 7

I’m so glad to hear you are happy, though it is no surprise whatsoever. It was clear to the world that Lord Cavendish was mad in love with you, you lucky thing.

There is much to tell you too, but I will answer your questions first. Yes, I am well and Holbrooke House exceptionally grand. Yes, Mr Burton is here, and yes, he is paying me marked attention. He wishes to court me. I’ve not given him a definite answer as yet, but I have promised to do so before we leave here.

He is handsome and kind and interesting, and I’m going to try to fall in love with him. I like him already, so perhaps fondness should be my first goal. Can you fall into fondness with a man?

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Lady Aashini Cavendish.

The Summerhouse. 21st August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Jasper turned his back on the summerhouse and stared down the sweeping expanse of green to the lake beyond. Unlike the lake he’d taken Luke to, this one was an open vista with views for miles around. No privacy here. The summerhouse was private enough, though, if you had a mind to use it.

It was a strange little building, an odd combination of simplicity and excess. An unpretentious rectangle, it was plain on three sides with full height arched windows in the front façade. On the top, however, it was all Gothic frills and spikes, and looked like someone had gone insane with the sugar icing on a bride cake. There were doors within the middle window that opened into a single room. Inside was a fireplace, oddments of furniture scattered about, musty smelling blankets, a tinderbox, and candles. He’d camped down here with Henry often as a boy, and they’d used it as their own personal kingdom, dragging Harriet with them more often than not. Henry always protested, not wanting his sister in tow, but back then Harry hadn’t seemed to mind Jasper’s rough and tumble treatment of her. He thought she’d rather enjoyed it.

It was all a muddle in his mind now. He’d spent too long analysing his memories, trying to pinpoint when it had all gone wrong. It had been here, though, in the privacy of the summerhouse. He just didn’t know why.

“Shouldn’t we go and—”

“No,” Jasper said, sending Harriet an impatient look.