And then coughed. Damn bubbles burned his chest.
How the hell was it possible to like someone too much? Furthermore, how big of a fool was he to believe her?
He rubbed his chest. His father had always accused him of being too damn soft.
He’d pay for it this time.
The culmination of all her reasons had finally worn him down. What kind of man imposed himself in light of such resistance? But he’d pushed. And pushed.
Since that first day when he’d sat alone with her in Miss Primm’s parlor, the truth had stared him in the face.
She was in love with someone else.
She had to be. Even if the blighter was dead.
Because, by God, chits such as Allison Meadowbrook dreamed of marrying a man like Hunt. Or perhaps he’d only fooled himself into believing that.
She’d admitted to not being a virgin, hadn’t she?
He took another swallow.
She’d been drawn to him; there was no mistaking that. If he hadn’t been so very sure of that, he never would have insisted she make the journey to Cliffhouse. He would never have introduced her to his mother, by God, or his sisters.
His stomach churned for that, but mostly because he’d nearly forced a woman to marry him against her wishes.
Perhaps he deserved to rot in Newgate. Not for his father’s sins but for his own.
No. There was no perhaps about it.
He tipped the mouth of the bottle steeply at his lips—one of the finest in his cellars—and drank as though it was one of those cheap ales Damien was going to make.
It might as well be. Even so, Hunt doubted anything would be strong enough to dull his failure today.
“What are you doing here?” A shadow blocked the small amount of light slanting inside the cave.
For a shocked few seconds, his mind imagined her an aberration summoned by his pitiful thoughts. Was he hallucinating? No. He wasn’t even drunk.
“Allison?”
“I didn’t realize you would be down here. I just needed…” She was backing away from him. “I’ll leave you be.”
“I told you not to come down here alone.” It was the first thing that came to his mind. He ought to rise, greet her like a proper gentleman, but they were rather beyond that.
She was shaking her head. “I know. I’ll go.”
The golden light reflected off her cheek when she turned, her face shadowed. As much as he wished to hate her for her decision, that wouldn’t be fair.
Because she’d never truly deceived him. He’d been blinded by his own pressing need to shift his burdens onto her delicate shoulders.
She was so very young. Someday, she might look back on all this and wish she’d made a different decision. She might regret that she had not claimed the Hardwood title and all that came with it.
But for now, she believed herself in love with a dead man.
And yet she was young. And with youth, there was always hope.
Hunt’s lack of optimism made him feel ancient in comparison.
And he couldn’t, in good conscience, allow her to hike out of the cove alone.
