‘You think I am not capable of love?’
‘Passion maybe, but not love.’
Mr Hart’s face fell, and his expression turned mournful. ‘Then who have I been dreaming of at night, and who have I been aching for?’
He stroked my cheek. ‘What is love but the joining of two souls?Oursouls, Felicity.’
‘No!’ I gasped. ‘Please do not say that. I don’t believe you.’
Thoughts whirled through my brain.This cannot be happening. He is trying to trick me. He does not love me. Oh dear, this was not a good plan to use myself as a decoy!
I attempted to bring some semblance of reason to his assertions, which were starting to sound too serious for my liking.
‘Sir, I am flattered by your attention, but the fact remainsthat I love my husband and am married to him. If we are speaking of souls, then mine is joined to his, and I do not want to be parted from him.’
‘I can give you something different—something deeper ... something more thrilling. You know I can ...’ He took my hand again and stroked my fingers.
I gave a scornful laugh despite my body lighting up at his touch. What he was saying was completely absurd! ‘What you are suggesting would be certain ruin for me, to be connected to a man such as yourself. Have you thought about that?’
He shrugged. ‘It is true I am low on funds. But if it is money and your reputation you are worried about, then Smithy is an excellent lawyer. I am sure he could arrange a generous settlement with your husband to keep things quiet.’
I wrenched my hand away from his. ‘So this is the truth of it. You want me for my money? What you can get out of a liaison with me?’
‘No, it is not about the money. But we will need something to live on and for repairs.’ He gestured at the castle. ‘Think of it. Once I inherit, you would be the mistress of Hartmoor. We could restore it together.’
‘But that is a deception at the expense of your father and your brother.’
‘Harry’s inheritance is a mere technicality because he is two years older than me. He does not care about Hartmoor like I do. After Mother died, he had no wish to have anything to do with it. As far as he is concerned, it can rot. I do not want that to happen—it is my home.’
He sounded so sincere that I was inclined to believe him. His reaction when I had criticised his sketch of Hartmoor—his vision of how he wantedhis hometo look—had been passionate. Perhaps he had felt that I was sayinghewas flawed when he had wanted me to like him.
I was so confused that I did not know what to believe about Mr Hart. Was he good? Was he bad? All I knew was that I had to make it to the inn—because if I didn’t, my life could take a very different turn.
Chapter 20
After the raspberry-picking excursion, I told Mr Hart that I wanted to be alone to think about what he had said. But before going to my room and locking the door, I double-checked Jane’s and Lucinda’s to ensure they really had gone. All was in order, and they were not in sight. At least that part of the plan had gone smoothly!
Shaken by Mr Hart’s revelation, I flopped onto my bed and lay there, going over everything he had said and our conversation as we had walked back to the castle with the brimming basket of raspberries between us. He had wanted me to call him Dorian and not Mr Hart. I had refused.
‘You did so last night,’ he pouted.
‘It was only because I felt sorry for you. I will not make the same mistake again,’ I said firmly.
He tried to kiss my hand, but I had pulled mine away. ‘Do you ever give up?’ I said, half laughing because he was being so insistently ridiculous.
‘Not when I find something I want,’ he replied, giving me a cocky grin that made my hackles rise.
‘You want me only because I’m a challenge,’ Iretorted.
‘I want you because you beat me into submission—and I like that very much,’ he added, his voice lowering huskily.
He had an answer for everything and was determined to flirt, so I had thought it was wise to say nothing else to provoke him and come straight to my room. All I had to do now was wait for the afternoon mail coach ... and resist the advances of a devilishly handsome rake ...
A faint click roused me; and I sat up, rubbing my eyes sleepily, then realised with dismaythat I had fallen asleep! Fortunately, I had dropped off for only a moment as I was so tired after last night’s events.
Blast, I thought.I was supposed to inform Mr Hart that Lucinda was still poorly and that Jane was writing her novel but would be down for supper too.What was the point of making a plan if I could not remember to action each of the stages?
It was strange that Mr Hart had left me alone and not come pestering me with further flowery declarations of his feelings. I had half been expecting a hastily written love poem shoved under the door à la Mr Humbleton. But unlike my cousin’s poor attempts at flattery, a poem from Mr Hart would likely be much more persuasive and possibly even risqué, so I did not want to receive one. Still, there was no harm in checking ...
