Page 16 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

“And you meant to look in the little box too, I assume.”

“Please understand, I never wanted to hurt you. Frederick portrayed you as a ghastly creature, but I knew as soon as I met you, he’d lied. As I’d genuinely hurt myself falling from that horse, I knew I had to stay with you a little while. I didn’t know what else to do.”

He looked at her squarely, and his chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “He made you fall off a horse in order to gain access to me? You could have been killed. He knew the dangers. That man used my memories of Josephine to make me take pity on you and take you under my wing. How can you possibly love such an appalling excuse for a gentleman?”

She winced at the furious hiss in his voice and backed away.

“Well, do you love him still? Answer me.”

“No. No, I don’t think I do. But he is all I have.” She felt way beyond wretched.

“Nonsense. You have me. A powerful friend.”

“And an implacable enemy. You have tried to bankrupt him, and thus ruin us both.” Once Conall had got over his initial shock at her confession, would she be able to bargain with him? Convince him to loosen his hold on Frederick’s purse? If she was to salvage anything of her life, she had to try.

Conall clicked his tongue. “I wish I’d killed him when I had the chance.”

Her heart jolted. “Killed him?”

He held her by the shoulders. “I’m ashamed to say we fought a duel after Josephine died. Frederick accused me of so upsetting her when she came to tell me all was over between us, that she galloped off like a demented demon, abandoning her usual skill as a rider. He said she would never have fallen off had she been in her right mind. In truth, I have blamed myself for the same thing, but could not accept it coming from that blackguard’s mouth.”

This was news indeed. Her lungs tightened, and she became increasingly aware of the strong grip on her shoulders. A grip that could easily do harm.

“Don’t look so alarmed. I’m no murderer. Frederick challenged me to a duel.”

She gasped. “He shot you? That was how you lost your eye?”

His mouth widened in a grimace. “No. I shot myself, in effect.” His tone was laced with bitterness. “We were pacing away from each other, ready to turn and fire. I had my pistol by my cheek, as one does, but stumbled in a rabbit hole and accidentally pulled the trigger. The gun—being of inferior make—misfired and exploded, shooting splinters of burning metal and wood into my hand and face. Of course, the duel was suspended after that, and the surgeons called in. I don’t believe either myself or Frederick felt honour had been satisfied.”

“Such terrible luck!” She stroked his elbow, laying her hand gently over his gloved fingers. “To lose so much in so short a space of time.”

“I forbid you to pity me. But yes, it was a poor piece of luck. How was I to know my darling had loved another before me, and that she believed him dead at Waterloo? She never told me. I think now perhaps she only accepted my suit because she was empty and heartbroken about Frederick—or Andrew—or whatever his real name was.”

She shook her head, frowning. “I’ve only ever known him as Frederick.”

He sighed, and his grip on her shoulders loosened. “Now we have both revealed an unpleasant secret about ourselves. So, what are we to do, Miss Norton?”

“Ah, yes. Another piece of deception, regrettably. Ever since I ran away with Frederick, I have been calling myself Norton, but my true surname is Normanton. My family is in Essex.”

“I shall continue to call you Hestia. It avoids confusion.”

Was that a tiny glint of amusement in his eye? Was his anger abating? If so, now was her chance, and if she didn’t take it, she might regret it forever.

“Could I ask you to stop hounding Frederick? I shall return to Bath immediately, and tell him I will no longer play his game. He must meet you face-to-face. No—not in a duel! Never that. And you must sort out your differences by negotiation. Not by threats or deceit.”

There was a whirring sound, and suddenly the cacophony of clocks began proclaiming the hour of noon all around the house. Conall ignored them. Instead, he pulled Hestia closer, until her nose was almost brushing the top button of his waistcoat.

“You are too good for Frederick Ebbworth. He didn’t deserve Josephine’s love, and he most certainly deserves neither love nor loyalty from you. Look at me.”

He released her shoulder and placed his gloved hand beneath her chin, tilting it upwards. She looked. His lips were so close, his fascinating mouth—no longer fierce—so tempting. The look in his eye enveloped her, enslaved her, and a molten waterfall of desire crashed over her body. Suddenly all she wanted to do was kiss him, and forget all the unpleasantness of the last few moments.

“We’ll go to Bath together, you and I, and find Frederick. I’ll take that little box on the table—which is full of the IOUs from his gambling debts. And we will negotiate terms, as you request. But you must be a party to any agreement, and your future must be secured, however you wish it. How does that sound?”

Too good to be true. She was getting what she wanted—clemency—and she didn’t deserve any of it. He was so close, his breath wafted her hair about her face. Her voice shook as she said, “You are so understanding. How can I ever thank you?”

“Like this.”

No sooner had he leaned in to kiss her, than she met him with a hunger that surprised her. If he’d had any doubts about the living-in-sin part of her story, she had dispelled them in an instant. She kissed him back, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.