“Yet you agreed to take his hand?” It was more an accusation than a question.
“I am not proud of what I was, Henry, but yes, I did. Have you never made a mistake in all your life?”
The air chilled, or was that his own shame snaking cold down his back? He’d made plenty of errors, most notably those that disappointed his father. The time he’d trusted a buyer against his father’s wishes and incurred a considerable loss on a shipment of Madeira. The year he’d forgotten to inspect the tenant farmers’ harvest, and mildew had ruined it all. That one panicked letter in childhood when he and Charity had believed the house to be haunted. In all these things, his father had never voiced his displeasure. He hadn’t needed to. His silence had been sharper than any scolding. Since then, Henry had measured every cry for help like it was a coin—and feared spending too much.
And now? He was overdrawn. Again.
He kneaded a knot in his shoulder, chagrined to have pointed out Juliet’s faults when his were no less egregious. “So,” he said in a softer tone, “did you ever love him?”
She shook her head. “I thought I did, but it turns out I did not.”
Thank God.Not that it was any of his business, really, but all the same, her answer surely tasted sweet. The steel in his muscles eased, and he dropped his hand.
Still, something about the man lingered like a bitter draught. He needed to know how deep the wound went. How to protect her from being used in such an ill manner ever again, for of all the things he might fail at, he refused to fail in guarding Juliet the way Chamberlain should have.
“Forgive me for asking,” he said quietly, “but who ended it—Colin or you?”
She hesitated but a breath. “He did. He said my name was a liability he could no longer afford to be associated with.”
Henry’s jaw clenched. “Coward. You deserved better.”
She gave a dry laugh. “I have yet to meet this mythical ‘better.’”
“Well, you have now.”
Her brows rose. And no wonder. It had been bold statement … one he refused to take back.
He stepped closer, searching her face. “Are there any other secrets you harbour? Things I should be aware of? You are, after all, living beneath my roof, and as such, are under my protection. I need to know if there are other men who bear you a grudge.”
“No. None. You already know of my father’s disgrace, my flight to Bedford, my poverty and loss of status.” She looked away then, taking sudden interest in the dark line of hedges beyond the railing. “You have seen me at my worst,” she murmured.
“But have I seen it all?” he pressed. “I want to trust you, Juliet, but I wonder if I can.”
“I wonder the very same,” she whispered, then once again faced him, her tone turning to ice. “I have found that trust is a two-sided weapon.”
He flinched at the venom in her words. What the deuce? He’d never given her reason to doubt his loyalty … had he? He mulled over the past month, since the day he’d first collared her in the woods.
Nothing egregious came to mind.
He met her gaze head-on, as if by stare alone he could make her see truth. “I would never betray you, if that is what you mean.”
A bitter laugh choked out of her. “Would that my father, or even Colin, had embraced the same sentiment.”
Ahh. So that was it. The two men she ought to have been able to count on, to provide for her, to protect and cherish her as a priceless gift. He certainly would if given the chance.
Gently, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her close, making sure she could hear the veracity in his voice. “What those men did was wrong, but I am not them.”
A soft inhale made her chest rise. “No,” she whispered, “you are not.”
His focus dropped to her lips, to the very mouth he’d been wishing to taste ever since they’d danced. Had Chamberlain taken such a liberty with her? Had she allowed him to?
“Henry, I …” Something vulnerable flashed in her eyes. A glimpse of a little girl who didn’t know where to lay her head, wondering who would allow her to shore up against a strong shoulder when she needed it most.
Instantly he sobered, dropping his hold of her—not so much a retreat but rather out of respect. “Come. Charity will wonder where we’ve gone.”
No protest, no hesitation. She stepped into motion beside him, and this time, their silence felt companionable. Not all was mended—neither between them nor within them—but sometimes peace reigned even in a storm.
He opened the ballroom door for her and followed her in, swallowed once more by laughter and candlelight, but something inside him didn’t settle.
