Lord Harry's Folly, page 25
part #4 of Historical Regency Romances Series
He turned and walked away from her. As he had spoken, she had felt almost as if she had been there, standing near to him and Elizabeth as they wreaked their anger on each other. She had seen the bitter pain lighting his eyes, had sensed his unwillingness even now to unbury his painful ghosts. But the letter, she always came back to the letter. The letter and Damien’s unhappiness, as described by Pottson.
She lay staring into the dark shadows about the room, trying to make sense of things. She realized something she didn’t want to realize, but she had to. Deep within her she knew that he had spoken the truth. She simply had no doubts even though she wanted them, wanted to curse him for his lies, but they weren’t lies and she knew it. She simply knew it. She also realized that she wanted to believe him.
She thought of her life as Lord Harry, of the decision to make herself into a gentleman. Lord Harry had given her life meaning and focus. The sharp pain in her side was preferable to the wrenching pain that now filled her. Had Lord Harry’s existence been for naught? She felt hollow as she forced herself to ask, “You said that Elizabeth would never tell you who fathered the child. Yet you believe that it was Filey.”
He turned to face her and she saw surprise in his dark eyes, surprise that she was no longer challenging him. “Yes, that’s true. I told you that if I had been certain, I would have killed him. The babe carried his general features, very fair with a thatch of reddish hair. There was no resemblance whatsoever in the babe’s features to Damien or to me. There is nothing more I can tell you, Hetty.”
She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “No, there’s nothing more. I believe you’ve told me everything.” Suddenly she felt such relief well up inside her that she wanted to shout with it. She was awash with it until it hit her hard what she’d done. She’d set out to kill a man, a man who was innocent. She struggled up on her elbows. “God, I’ve been like Don Quixote, fencing with windmills, searching for vengeance, when I had naught to do but speak to you, to show you Elizabeth’s letter, to ask for the truth. You were my vendetta. I used you to help pull me from my grief. I made you my nemesis. I made you evil, all on the basis of a single letter. May God forgive me, what if I had killed you?”
She was crying, for the first time in so very long, she was crying. She felt stripped bare. She felt guilt and relief and such despair for what could have happened that she couldn’t bear it. She stared at him wildly.
“Hetty, no, you must not”
“Oh no, there’s no forgiveness for me. I believed you guilty over nothing more than that bloody letter. I shall never forgive myself for my blindness, for my stupidity.”
She turned her face away from him, muffling her damnable tears into the pillow.
He strode to her and gathered her in his arms, rocking her gently against his chest. She offered him no resistance, but he sensed her struggling with herself against the tears. He stroked the soft curls atop her head and waited quietly for her to regain control. He found himself smiling as her sobs dissolved into hiccups. He shifted her in his arms so that he could see her face.
“Come now, Hetty,” he said as she tried to burrow her face into the open neck of his white shirt, “Lord Harry would stare me straight in the eye and call me a damnable fool to have fallen into such a horrible situation. Surely Lord Harry wouldn’t weep all over my neck.” She continued to sob against his neck. “Lord Harry is also an honorable young gentleman. His courage and strength of principle are admirable, and since you, my dear Hetty, are Lord Harry, I would that you would stop this display of guilt. Surely Lord Harry would very quickly find another bone to pick with me. No, still not ready to come back to me? All right, Lord Harry thought I was vicious, that I was a predator. Perhaps I’m not those things, but I am an excellent gambler. I could take you at whist and at piquet and at faro and win your entire dowry. I could leave you humiliated, lying in the dust, no more money to your name. You wouldn’t have a chance against me. What do you say?”
Hetty raised her face, aware of his eyes, dark and tender upon her face. Why tenderness from the man she’d meant to kill? It warmed her. It made her feel strangely urgent. She sniffed loudly, then said right in his face, “You’ve seen me naked.”
Now this was unexpected. Interesting, fascinating even, but unexpected. But he was a cautious man, upon occasion. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s true enough, but I didn’t really think of you as a woman.”
“You’re lying,” she said, still staring at him straightly. “I was at Lady Buxtell’s establishment with Harry and Scuddy. There wasn’t a single man who wasn’t extremely interested in every inch of every female who was there.”
“You were in Lady Buxtell’s?” There was awe, but no particular surprise in his voice. “You actually went to a whorehouse?”
“How could I avoid it for five months? I tried, but Harry wouldn’t let me weasel out of it. I did something good, though. I saved a young girl who’d been befouled by Sir William. She’s now Little Jack’s nurse.”
“You go to a brothel and you manage to bring out a whore to stay with your nephew?”
She told him about Mavreen, about the death of her Uncle Bob. “What really made me angry was Sir William Filey. He’d treated her horribly.”
“Sir William isn’t a nice man,” he said, and dropped a kiss into her hair. He was so startled that he just looked at her. Hetty cocked her head slightly to one side, then smiled at him. “I also learned that men tend to think about sexual matters all the time. It was disconcerting until I got used to it and learned how to say my own titillating things. Everyone believed that I was keeping Mavreen and I let them believe it. It kept me out of Madame Buxtell’s house.”
He just shook his head at her. “It’s unbelievable” was all he said.
There was silence between them then, a silence filled with questions and curiosity.
Then she raised her face. He kissed her very lightly on her closed mouth. “I remember wanting to do that at the Ranleagh ball,” he said. “I wanted to touch you, too. I loved your laughter, it flowed over me and made me feel the warmth of you. You charmed me, Hetty, charmed me to my toes. I thought you fascinating. I couldn’t figure out why you’d disliked me, why you’d leave your father’s house just to avoid me.”
“You charmed me as well,” she said. “I don’t know anything about men and women, your grace”
“My name is Jason. Do you think perhaps you could say that to me?”
“Jason, as in the Greek Jason who was ever so heroic and noble and adventurous?”
“The same one,” he said, and kissed her again. “Now, about you knowing about men and women, I would say that you have a perspective on my species that no other woman could have. I would like to hear all of your exploits. I like to be terrified and astounded.”
“You really didn’t think of me as me when you took care of me?”
The night had ended very much differently than he’d expected, he thought, and lightly kissed her yet again. She tasted warm and sweet and he wanted her very much. Not that it mattered. “You’re beautiful. I’m not blind. But believe me, I’m in charge of you your health as your doctor if you will, not as your husband. One doesn’t shirk one’s duty, Hetty. Surely you would have cared for me had there been no other choice. Would you have looked at me naked and felt a woman’s lust for me?”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly, frowning deeply in thought. “I realize that the gentlemen, as I told you, all think about sex nearly every hour of the day and night. I think it’s strange. I don’t know much of anything about a woman’s lust. Is there really such a thing?”
“Next time we duel, I shall contrive to be the one who is wounded. I will see if you end up kissing me and holding me as I am you. We will see if you feel such a thing then. Lust is a very nice thing, Hetty.”
“I think I’d rather learn about lust in a happier circumstance than with you wounded.” Suddenly, she shuddered, ducking her head again against his neck. “You know, I really enjoyed my fencing lessons with Signore Bertioli. Yet when it came to the sticking point”
He tightened his hold on her shoulders and finished her unspoken thought. “There’s always a sticking point. There’s no sport, no dashing romance in slicing up a man, or a woman, as the case may be.”
“You wouldn’t want to kill Sir William Filey?”
There was a sudden, dangerous gleam in his dark eyes. “That’s different. He’s different. Yes, I have wanted to for a very long time, but my hands are tied. After Elizabeth’s death, I returned briefly to London and confronted him. Sir William is many things, but he isn’t stupid. He knows me to be his better with foils and pistols. Thus, he denied any involvement with Elizabeth and sullenly swallows my insults as he did that night at White’s when I tried to intervene and protect you.”
“I would like to kill him, too,” she said. “I think I could kill him after what I saw he did to Mavreen.”
She moved slightly against his chest to relieve the sudden sharp pulling in her side. He became very much aware of her soft breasts pressing against him. He became very much aware of how hard he’d become in just the past few moments. He didn’t want to embarrass her. He didn’t want her to feel she couldn’t trust him. Damnation.
He rose quickly to stand over her. She was young and beautiful and so damned female that it made him harder than a stone. He saw her laugh, felt the energy and pleasure in her when he’d whirled her about in the waltz. She was also Lord Harry. He knew her better than he’d ever known another human being. All her different parts were his now. It felt very good and very right. There could be no other woman like her. The black despair that had held him for so long was gone. “You must rest now, Hetty. We’ve had an evening I doubt I will ever forget. I pray you won’t either and try to stick a knife in my ribs on the morrow.”
“No, I shan’t do that,” she said and let him pull the covers over her. “Jason.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can forgive me for all I’ve done to you?”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his. “In twenty years or so.”
She smiled at him. Twenty years, she thought. That sounded nice. Odd that it should, but it did. For the first time since Damien’s death, she felt something besides guilt, despair, and blind determination. She felt a bit of peace. She knew it wouldn’t last, that she couldn’t let it last, for the person who was responsible for Damien’s death was still out there, still unknown. But for now, she hugged the peace to her and when she slept, she was smiling.
Chapter Twenty-nine
She awoke up to complete silence. Sunlight filled the large bedchamber. That wonderful feeling of peace was still with her. There was still a smile on her face. She remembered him clearly, holding her, kissing her. She felt clean and whole, despite the constant pulling in her side, but that didn’t matter, she could bear that. She was alive.
And so was he. She stared over at him, watching him write, his dark head bent, his right hand moving swiftly over a piece of foolscap. He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves loose to the tight cuffs, and black knit pants that made him look quite nice indeed. As for his black hessians, she had to admit that Lord Harry had never looked quite so excellent in his.
But what was most important was that he’d told her the truth. He was innocent. There was honor in him, deep honor, and honesty. Again, she felt the surge of guilt, then forced herself away from it. It was over now. He’d understood. He’d forgiven her, at least he said he would in the next twenty years.
That still sounded very nice to her this morning.
“Who are you writing to?” She struggled up on her elbows, trying to reach for the carafe of water. He paused, his pen poised in midair, and quickly rose. “No, hold still. Let me give you water.”
He held the glass as she drank. “I’m writing a letter to Sir Archibald.”
“Oh my, you’re what?”
“I’m writing to your esteemed sire. Hetty, Lady Alicia Warton is an excellent hostess, though she sincerely apologizes for not informing Sir Archibald sooner of the delightful visit she is having with his daughter. She is, at the moment, endeavoring to create and recount the various activities you’ve enjoyed since your arrival at Thurston Hall. I fear you’ve been fairly debauched. Perhaps you’ve even flirted overly with too many gentlemen. It also appears that you are very fond of your host, Lord Oberlon. Perhaps he even is attracted to you. It remains to be seen.”
She just stared up at him with those clear blue eyes of hers. “I think I’d like to be debauched.”
He looked stunned, then forced a light smile. “What, no duel for me today? No knife in my black heart?”
She just shook her head at him and drank some more water.
“Call me Jason. I like to hear you say my name.”
Instead she choked on the water. He thwacked her back, then sat down on the bed beside her and pulled her against him to gently rub his palm over her back. She’d stopped choking long before he stopped rubbing.
“Jason,” she said against his shoulder. “Is Lady Alicia your only sister?”
He didn’t let her go, just began to rock her slowly back and forth. “Yes, and fortunately for us, she is pregnant and thus unlikely to venture this time of year into London. Now, as much as I would like to hold you until you’ll undoubtedly want Millie again, let me order your breakfast and finish this letter. Pottson must leave shortly to deliver it.”
“Have I really flirted outrageously with my host?”
“You’ve been fair to tripping on your tongue you want him so much.”
“That sounds quite odd to me. What about the host? You think he’s equally interested?”
“It’s certainly possible, given that he’s washed you and fed you and already kissed you, but not enough to ease him.”
She liked the sound of that as well. “Is there nothing you’ve forgotten?”
“There’s a lot I don’t want myself to think about right now,” he said, rising. “Yes, I’m thinking venal thoughts of you, Hetty, very vivid debauched thoughts, but let me answer you as a gentleman and your doctor. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything. I’ve also just finished writing my daily note to the earl of March on Lord Harry’s progress. He, I assume, will keep his brother-in-law informed.”
Hetty lay back quietly and thoughtfully chewed on her lower lip. “When is Henrietta Rolland going home?”
“In about three days, I expect. Lady Alicia has begged your father, very prettily, I might add, to allow you to extend your visit to a full week. Even then, Hetty, you’ll be damnably weak and there’ll still be pain.”
“I don’t like it at all.”
“I don’t blame you. Now you asked me about Miss Henrietta Rolland. Which one? The one I wanted to kiss and tease all night at the Ranleaghs’ ball or the one at my aunt Melberry’s soiree who called me a spanking fine fellow and was so vulgar I wanted to smack her?”
She laughed, regretted it, and settled for a smile. “I fooled you, I surely did, but not at first. You’re very perceptive and I knew I had to stop taunting you.”
“Yes, you were wise to stop it. Perhaps I would have recognized you eventually. But not immediately. There were so many of your parts strewn around London. You’re an arrogant woman, Henrietta, do you know that?”
“Yes, but Lord Harry gave it to me. He couldn’t afford not to swagger and boast and be ruthless. He taught me a lot. So did Miss Caroline Langley. She’s infatuated with you. I had to listen to her chatter on and on about how wonderful you are. I had to bite my tongue since I was firmly convinced that you were a villain.”
He could only shake his head at her as he moved quickly at the knock on the door. He took the breakfast tray from the servant and quickly closed the door again. “I know the servants are mad to know what this is all about. Pottson tells me that they hound him and Millie both, but they’ve kept mum. Now, porridge for you and some toast with lots of butter and Cook’s special honey.”
She ate a goodly amount. It settled well on her stomach, which relieved both of them. She said, “Do you believe that Sir William Filey could have had the influence to have Damien sent out of the country?”
“I’ve wondered about that. I wouldn’t have thought so, but then again, I don’t know all the influence he wields with the war ministry. We still have a mystery on our hands. Does Lord Harry feel he still has more work to do?”
She frowned into her coffee cup. He misinterpreted her gesture. “Thank God you’re ready to send that imperious young gentleman back to the wilds of northern England or was it Scotland? It was a foolish and dangerous game you played, Hetty. Just thinking about all you did at least all you did that I know about makes my belly cramp. Now, at least, you may again don your skirts and leave me to do the hunting.”
It was the stupidest thing he could have said.
She eyed him with dangerous calm. “Ah, let me understand you, your grace. You mean that it is time for the real gentleman to search out the truth? The lady will return to her proper place, simpering and serving tea?”
He was annoyed and yet, at the same time, rather pleased to see the vinegar back in her. It must mean she was feeling much better. How to get himself out of this hole? His offer wasn’t meant to offend. He was being just as he should be. He said easily, “Naturally you will return where you belong. I said nothing of simpering and serving tea. However, I can’t now see you donning your breaches again and prancing off to White’s or to Lady Buxtell’s, for God’s sake.”
“Prance? Why, I believe you should go directly to the devil.”
