“Fine,” Hartley spat out. “If that is what the lady prefers, I accept it. Given the circumstances…perhaps it is better for her brother to learn about an engagement alone.”
Really, this farce had gone on long enough.
“Hartley, there will be no engagement. I have told you on several occasions already that I have no wish to marry you. I do not know why you insist I repeat myself.”
Hartley whirled around in his chair to face her. Their eyes met and Henrietta saw a hot resentment, a bile, that she had never seen there before. His face, which had always seemed so open and friendly, now looked totally unfamiliar.
“You have no choice, Lady Henrietta,” Hartley said, parceling out the words as if she would have trouble understanding them. “You dishonored yourself with me. You sullied yourself. You should be down on your hands and knees thanking me that I still want to marry you.”
“Enough,” Trem said, his fist hitting the oak desk in front of him. “You will not speak to her in such a fashion.”
“She gave herself to me,” Hartley protested. “And now she wants to cry off? It is unheard of. Unspeakable.”
“I won’t marry you,” Henrietta urged, hoping that this blockhead would see reason. “Everything in me rebels at the notion. I cannot be your wife.”
“Nothing in you seemed to rebel when you were underneath me—”
“I said enough, Hartley,” Trem snarled, and Henrietta saw real rage flash across his face. For a moment, he looked genuinely terrifying. Henrietta had known Trem her whole life and had never felt the force of his title, his wealth, his social power, so fully. Not to mention his physical presence, his beauty becoming almost grueling when paired with his ire. Hartley shrank back in his seat.
“You will listen here, Hartley,” Trem continued and the younger man did nothing but open and then close his mouth in response to this command. “There will be no engagement with Lady Henrietta. There will be no marriage. You will behave like a gentleman. You will forget this matter and any favor that Lady Henrietta once bestowed on you. You will not speak of it to anyone and you will—most of all—stop pestering her with requests for her hand. She has refused you, finally and definitively. Your acquaintance with her is at an end.”
Hartley sprung up from his chair at this proclamation and Trem followed suit. The men were about the same height, Henrietta observed, but there could be no question as to which had the force of personality, the power, over the other. Hartley flinched under Trem’s gaze, even as he attempted to make a show of standing tall.
“Leave,” Trem dismissed. “We are done with you.”
“If you think I will forget this,” Hartley said, turning to Henrietta now, his face a mask of resentment, his voice near a whine, “I won’t. You will be my wife.”
And then he turned on his heel and left the study.
When the door slammed behind him, Henrietta looked up from her lap and found Trem staring at her.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice wavering. She managed to stand, but her legs were unsteady.
“Henrietta,” Trem said, his voice soft. He moved towards her, catching her arm. She was looking up at him now, into the deep hazel of his eyes, and she felt, with just that soft touch and his eyes upon her, the pain of the encounter with Hartley fade just a little. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she said, truthfully. “I can’t imagine what you think of me. To have gotten myself into such a situation.”
Trem shook his head. “What you said yesterday was entirely correct. How many women have I entangled myself with over the years? How many times have I chosen wrong? Who am I to begrudge you just one similar mistake?”
“But you know it is different.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
Henrietta felt a deep despair at the words. She knew it was unfair, but she wanted to wrench out of him more reassurance—she wanted him to tell her that she hadn’t changed in his eyes. That he could still want her. She had seen that desire there last night, before she had told him the truth. She wanted to know it still lived inside of him.
“Even if we manage to keep Hartley quiet…” She found she couldn’t say the rest of the words. They were too pathetic. Her eyes filled with tears and she didn’t want him to see her cry, so she turned from him.
But soon strong arms were turning her around again and she found herself pressed against his chest. She couldn’t remember a time when they had hugged like this—not since she was a child at least, when she had been free with her brother’s friends in a way that she had long since ceased to be. His embrace felt so good, dark and reassuring, like a glass of whiskey or a deep cup of chocolate. His arms fortified her.
“I know what society says about such things,” Trem said, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it in her ear. “But any man worth anything would still want you. Any worthy man wouldn’t care a whit for such a thing.”
The words comforted her, but they weren’t what she wanted to hear.
She pulled her head away from his chest. Their eyes met. His gaze was vulnerable and open. He could see his concern for her, but also that other thing—what she had seen last night. The desire.
“I don’t care about any worthy man. I only care about one.”
They looked at each other. She felt her voice catch in her throat when she tried to speak again. She couldn’t.
