“Whendid you know?” he demanded of Ash.
“Chev and I learned for certain last week...although I have suspected since the start. When she first came to Wisterley, there were...signs she’d recently given birth. Physical signs.That’swhy I so vehemently warned you to leave her alone. I didn’t know her circumstances and thought you could, unintentionally, do her grave harm.”
Ah. So that’s what had been behind Ash’s strange behavior.
Hurtheven turned to Pen. “And you?”
“I’ve known since the morning after the garden party.”
“Why...?” His voice cracked, preventing him from finishing his question. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant to ask.
Why had she told Pen and not him?
Why hadn’t she trusted him?
Why had she left without a word—allowing him to be humiliated in this way? A deep, visceral shame flared in his gut. A blush licked like a flame up his neck. Horrified, he crushed the base of his palms against his burning eyes.
“Leave us,” Pen ordered. “Let me talk to him alone.”
“If you think it’s best,” Chev responded.
“I do.”
Hurtheven kept his eyes on the floor as the door clicked closed. His shoulders jerked with a suppressed sob. “Goddamnit, Pen. She toldyou. Not me. Why?”
“I suspect,” Pen said carefully, “she had her reasons. You had not won her confidence.”
He gritted his teeth. “You could have warned me.”
“When you found Chev,” she reminded him, “you did not at first, reveal to me that he was alive. Why? Because it washissecret.Hehad to make up his own mind to come home.”
She was right. Which made him angry.
“You’d known Hera forthree days.”
“And you’ve known her for three weeks,” Pen retorted. “Think. She must have given yousomehint.”
He dragged his mind through a haze of individual memories as if tripping along a sewn seam, searching for a single, dropped stitch. Then, with a sinking feeling, he found one.
Inwardly, he cursed. “Shedidtell me. She asked me to be the guardian of her child, and when I answeredonly if there is a child,she insisted on the phraseany child. Not an explicit confession, but?—”
“Hurtheven,” Pen said disapprovingly, “just what kind a discussion were you having?”
He swallowed. “We were negotiating.”
“Negotiating?” Pen folded her arms.
“A contract...for her, ah, services.”
Pen gasped. Then, she stood up in a huff.
“Ialwaysintended to offer for her,” he defended. “In fact, I had already offered for her at that point.Shesuggested the contract.”
“And that makes treating her like a doxybetter?” She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re hurting. And so, I will give you wide berth. But you should be angry—withyourself.”
“I bared my heart to her.” Although he hadn’t, had he? He inhaled sharply.
Last night, when she’d asked about his past, he’d lied.
