Page 24 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

His heart ached. “I swear this is the one and only time I will ever lie to you. And yes, I agree, a marriage based on trust is essential, but is it not also important there should be some love in that marriage too?”

Her eyes widened. “I never said I loved you. Nor am I likely to, now.”

Ah, the final shaft. His heart shattered. “I deserve that, I know.” He hung his head and picked at his glove, feeling more wretched than he had in months. That damned Frederick Ebbworth had a lot to answer for.

When he had recovered himself, he looked Hestia full in the eye. “I know you won’t believe this, or want to, but there would be love in our marriage. For the simple reason that I have fallen in love with you.”

It wasn’t how he’d meant to make his declaration, bumping along a country road in the dark, faced with a betrayed and angry woman. But if it would help smooth things over between them, it needed to be said.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You love me? How can I believe you?”

“I would lay my life down for you, for your honour. I’ll not have the world look at you sideways. You have every right to be centre stage, and I intend to put you there. Preferably with the support of your parents. It has to start with them—the rest will follow.”

“Oh, Conall!” Her face worked, and her eyes were moist. Was he winning? He sincerely hoped he was.

She leaned across and took his hand. Her voice was soft as she looked up at him. “I would love to take you at your word, but Frederick said much the same to me when we eloped. I long to trust you, but you’ve made it well-nigh impossible.”

At that moment, he knew a fury so fierce, it shocked him. He hated Ebbworth more than before—if that were even possible. Death was too good for him. God forbid he ever lay hands on that man again—he couldn’t be answerable for the consequences.

Chapter 14

Hestia hadn’t anticipated the range of emotions that cannoned through her when she saw Clement’s House again. Anguish, fear, guilt—even a flash of joy at being in familiar surroundings.

There were still a few lights visible through the windows of the neat Queen Anne building. It faced the main street, barricaded behind tall metal railings, allowing the occupants to observe daily life as it passed by, without necessarily having to participate in it.

She had barely time to compose herself before Conall raised his walking cane and rapped smartly on the door. She hovered at his elbow, wondering if there was still time to slip away before it was answered, but their manservant, Henshawe, was quick in responding.

“Great heavens, Miss Hestia! What a relief it is to see you.”

Her heart warmed at this positive welcome from their old family retainer. He had, at one time, served under the Colonel as a foot soldier, and his loyalty to the family was invaluable.

“Good evening, Henshawe, and thank you. Are Mama or Papa at home?”

“They are indeed, miss.” His gaze shot towards Conall, and his expression darkened. “This will be a great shock to them, I think. Shall I announce the gentleman too?” He imbued the word gentleman with considerable disdain, but Conall merely smiled and doffed his hat.

“You may tell them the Earl of Corsbury is here, if you wish. Though I doubt the Colonel is acquainted with me.”

“Very well.” Henshawe turned and disappeared into the house without inviting them in. Conall looked down at Hestia. “Well?”

“I suppose we’d better stay here. Papa can’t enjoy the pleasure of slamming the door in my face if we’re already inside.”

After a silent, uncomfortable wait, during which her mood plummeted, a hubbub of voices was heard, followed by the clatter of metal and a sharp, feminine shriek.

Next moment her father hurtled through the front door, dressed only in his banyan and smoking cap, brandishing a rapier.

“I’ll run you through for defiling my daughter, you contemptible mongrel!”

There was a further shriek, this time from her own throat, but before she could move, Conall had put up his cane and deflected her father’s intended thrust, then neatly disarmed him with a flick of the wrist. He calmly picked up the sword from the front steps and handed it back to Papa.

With admirable aplomb, he said, “If you wish to settle this like gentlemen, I shall oblige you on the morrow. In the meantime, however, I suspect you’ll be very interested to hear what I have to say.”

At that moment, Hestia’s mama burst through the door, elbowing her beetroot-faced husband aside. She paused, ran her eyes over Hestia, then dragged her against her bosom.

“Oh, my darling child. We’ve been beside ourselves with worry. Are you come back to us now?”

Well, Papa, at least, had acted as expected. Although he’d attacked her suspected defiler, rather than Hestia herself, that moment would doubtless come. Mama’s warm welcome was a complete surprise—she’d expected recriminations, resentment, anger. Not this outpouring of affection.

She disentangled herself but kept hold of her mother’s arm. “There’s much to tell, but please, stop Papa from glaring murder at poor Lord Corsbury. He had nothing to do with my disappearance. He merely found me and has brought me home to you.”