Page 25 of Dare it all for Love

“I came back to see my sister, to check on my property,” he retorted, though the words rang as hollow as his chest had felt of late. He’d come back because he was homesick, lonely, because….

Florence gave him a look of such pitying disgust that his temper flared.

“If I had come back to marry, I’d hardly be looking at one of my friend’s daughters to fill the position! What the devil do I want with some silly child barely out of the schoolroom?”

He saw the hurt flare in her eyes at his words and waited for the tears, for her angry words. Perhaps she’d throw something at him. God knew he deserved it. Instead she just let out a breath of laughter, though not the happy kind. She turned away from him and went and sat by the fire.

“You know as well as I do, I am no child. Many of my friends married four or five years ago, some have children already. It’s just an excuse you are using to keep me at a distance. One day you’ll look back upon your life and remember this day. One day, when you’re alone and it is too late to change the mistakes you’ve made. If you won’t be honest with me, you should at least be honest with yourself.”

“What on earth makes you think you know my mind better than I do? You barely know me.”

“Am I wrong?”

She stared at him, challenging him, daring him to look her in the eyes and deny all the things he had once wanted and hoped for, to deny that he wanted them still, despite everything. Something hurt and angry boiled inside him. He wanted to lash out at her for making him face it again when he’d thought such feelings long since buried.

He’d resigned himself to a bachelor life. It was a good life, one he’d enjoyed, one he did not want to give up now, not even for her. He heard the lie and knew he could not say those words aloud and not have her hear it too. Panic uncoiled in his guts, cold and uncomfortable, making him reckless.

“And what if I do as you think I ought? What if I marry you and in twenty years, ten even, you realise you made a mistake in marrying a man so much your senior?” he demanded, shocking himself with the anger in his voice, with the realisation that he feared this above all things… that he might let himself care for her, love her, only to have her regret her decision and despise him for it.

He would not put himself in such a position again. Never again would he be made to feel a fool for loving a woman who didn’t want him.

Her expression softened, her eyes growing bright.

“Oh, Henry….” she began, but he could not stand it.

He did not want her care, certainly not her pity. He wanted no part in this… this ridiculous notion that they could possibly have a future together.

“Don’t,” he snapped, snatching up his coat and waistcoat and tugging them on, which was difficult when the material was so damp. He fought his way into them with sharp, angry movements. “I’m going to check on the horse,” he muttered, and hurried out of the blasted hut before things could get any worse.

Thank God the worst of the weather seemed to have cleared, for now at least. The rain had slowed to a thin drizzle and the thunder was only a distant grumble, barely audible. Henry hurried around to his horse, who seemed undisturbed by his less than salubrious accommodation and was snoozing peacefully. He leaned against the beast and let out a slow breath, trying to release the tension singing through his bones. His shoulders were stiff and taut, but the pain did not end there. Though he wanted to deny it, his heart felt bruised, too exposed, and that was before he considered the thrum of unfulfilled lust that still burned in his blood.

“Hell and damnation, Henry,” he muttered. The horse turned its head to regard him with mild curiosity. He shrugged at the beast. “I’m an idiot.”

The horse grunted and Henry groaned. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Henry!”

Henry turned as a familiar voice hailed him and saw Sterling riding towards him with Florence’s mount in tow. Thank God.

“Is she well?” he asked as he came level with the shack.

“Yes, fine. Just took a little tumble,” Henry lied, not about to say anything about Florence’s absurd scheme to get him alone. “Thanks for bringing the horse.”

Sterling shrugged.

“We got caught in the storm,” Henry added unnecessarily.

“Reckoned,” Sterling replied, giving him a considering look. “We made it to the inn on Saint’s Hill. Don’t think the storm’s done yet. Best make haste.”

Henry nodded and set about readying his horse.

Chapter 7

Dear Viv and Ash,

I hope you are both well. I am so sorry that I didn’t get to see more of you this summer, but Papa had so much to do at Trevick that we had to return. I am so looking forward to next season when we can all be together again. I had a letter from Arabella telling me all about her life at Royle House. It sounds terribly romantic—well, apart from the parrot—and I am horribly envious. A little bird told me a story about a hat and a dare, Viv. You’d best write and tell me everything at once. I cannot believe you have not already done so. Some friend you are, keeping me in the dark. You’d best wait until we are together before you attempt it, or I shall be very cross.

Ash, I do hope you like the enclosed waistcoat, I thought the embroidery rather fine if I say so myself. The embroidered stockings are for Viv, of course. I hope you like them. I had a dreadful time not bleeding on the white silk as the roses were so fiddly. Trevick is a romantic place but deadly dull at times, so these have kept me occupied. I am making something as a belated wedding gift for Arabella now. By the way, do you think Bainbridge would wear a waistcoat with parrots on it?