“Why aren’t you downstairs with Mr Comerford playing his ridiculous game?”
Whatever Louisa had taken from his room had evidently made him panic, sharp-edged and frantic. Henry folded his arms. “Do I strike you as a man often given to acting in plays? Comerford is my friend, but that does not mean I’m obliged to take part in everything he does.”
Knight stepped forward, and for the first time, Henry sized the other man up. Years of fighting and marching with the British army had given him a good eye. Knight was not a boxer, most likely—or if he was, not a particularly good one. His stature was on the smaller side, his shoulders subtly padded to give the impression of breadth. The days of wearing a sword with any regularity had long passed, but Henry was willing to bet the man wasn’t a fencer and had little experience with a pistol.
If it came down to it, there wouldn’t even be a fight.
“I know you have a fondness for her,” Knight said, looking as though he was tempted to force himself into the room. Had he done that, Henry would have wasted no time shoving him away again. Perhaps that was not gentlemanly, but he felt half man, half animal, and it was taking all his restraint not to take his fists to this man’s face.
“Lady Bolton?” Henry folded his arms as he leant against the doorjamb.
“Swooping in to defend her at every moment. Does she know you’re in love with her?”
Henry heartily wished that Louisa, still under the bed, was rendered temporarily deaf. “I think you must be mistaken,” he said coolly.
“Am I? I may not have been born in the same circles,my lord, but I recognise love when I see it.” He smirked. “But man to man, I recommend looking elsewhere for a bride.”
The more time passed in Knight’s company, the more tempting it was to give way to violence. His expression stilled. “I never had any intention of marrying her.”
“Forgive me, but I know that to be a lie.” Knight’s smile widened. “You intended to marry her at least once, did you not? When she was merely Miss Louisa Picard.”
The words slammed into Henry’s chest, brittle and ice-cold.
So, Knight truly had been doing his homework. Her past was not a secret by any means, and neither was their connection. She had never gone to any pains to hide her affection, and his had been blatant. When she’d married another man, he had chosen to leave the country rather than face the utter destruction of his hopes.
“Ah, so Iamright,” Knight continued, his smile spreading but not reaching his eyes, which were grey and cold. He looked like a predator faced with a new meal, but there were shadows under his eyes, and an unusual gauntness to his face, as though the skin clung especially firmly to his bones. Just as Louisa had said, evidently something had occurred.
He folded his arms. “Not in the slightest.”
“You did not marry her then, but now . . .” Knight tilted his head. “Now you hope to establish yourself in her affections just as you did before. Is it her fortune? Things are different fromwhen you were children, are they not. She has prospects, and she could save your familial predicament.”
“You should be very careful,” Henry said, his voice low.
“This is the house of a gentleman and you, too, are a gentleman.” Knight’s lips twisted—not a smile or a smirk, but something in the direction of both. “You would do nothing to harm me.”
“Is that what you truly believe?” Henry asked, raising his brow. “That you are safe from me? Because I ought to tell you that I am a soldier first, gentleman second. And if you endanger anyone I care about, I will have no compunction about acting against you in any way I see fit.”
“You would not want to be banished from the country now,” Knight said, his lip curling. “After all, what would your family do without you?”
If it weren’t for Oliver, Henry could have said with all honesty that he would not have a problem living in another country. At least there he would not have to face the reality of encountering Louisa at every social gathering he attended; he would not have to ignore the tug he felt to be by her side.
“You forget,” he said with a carelessness that would have made a rake proud, “that they have been without me for almost nine years. I imagine they could suffer some more.”
To his credit, Knight’s expression remained unchanged. “You wouldn’t be so fast to defend her if you knew what she has done. And if you dare act against me, I will tell the world and she will be ruined.”
Henry was silent. Threatening him meant nothing, but . . . Knight was wrong: Henry knew precisely what she had done. And thus he knew how thoroughly she would be expelled from Polite Society if the truth were known.
“If you see her,” Knight said with enough emphasis that suggested he expected Henry to come into close contact with herimminently, “be so good as to tell her that if she does not give my letters back by the end of the day, I will write to the Prince Regent personally to inform him of what I know about her.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Henry said, though there was hardly any point keeping up the pretence now.
“And you may also tell her that I was not so foolish as to leave my most prized possessions in my home or on my person ready to be discovered. She will have to try harder than that.” He waved a hand as he left.
Henry closed the door and turned to find Louisa already dragging herself out from underneath the bed, her hair dishevelled and the letters still clutched in her hands. Her face was pale, her eyes large and serious as they landed on him, and he felt as though the air had been summarily sucked from the room.
Given Knight’s anger, it would be unwise to send her back to her bedchamber alone, but if she remained any longer with him, he would do or say something rash.
She was not his, and by her own admission would never be, but he wanted. Hewanted.
