Chapter Fourteen
Even though her fiancé’s words were not directed at her, Rose jumped back as if touching fire, feeling all the color drain from her face. How could William be there? Why would he be at that precise moment?
She looked at him — the expression on his face was nothing short of murderous. Her stomach seemed to sink like a stone in a pond.
William grabbed Finn by the arm, and Rose cried out, not knowing what would ensue though terrified it would be violent.
Through it all, Finn remained silent. Equal in height to William, he simply stared at the man who currently held his upper arm in a tight grip.
Cocking his head, William asked, “Whoareyou?”
Finn’s gaze flew to Rose’s, then he looked back at William, his demeanor remaining calm. “Release me. We don’t want to embarrass the lady.”
William glanced at her. “Rose, tell me now, who is this man?”
All the moisture left her mouth. The only thing she was certain of was that this was not the time nor the place to confess to William.
“A friend, an old friend,” she stammered.
At last, William dropped his hand from Finn’s arm and focused only on Rose.
“Old friend, you say? How is it that I have never seen him before, not at any gathering or ball or party—” He broke off abruptly and looked at Finn again. “Wait. I have seen you before. At our engagement party, before the speeches. You were loitering by the doors, talking to no one.”
To Rose, he said, “He was at the Tremont, yes?”
“I didn’t know he would be there.” This confrontation was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I returned to Boston very recently,” Finn spoke up. “I apologize. I should not have come uninvited to your party.”
“Agreed,” William said. “It was a private gathering. Your name, sir?”
Rose held her breath. She was desperate not to lie to William. He deserved only the truth. On the other hand, Finn might be pushed only so far and then blurt out that he was her husband.
“Phineas Bennet,” Finn said, his tone uncharacteristically quiet.
“Today,” William persisted, “why did I find you touching my fiancée?”
Rose started to speak, but Finn interrupted her. “We encountered each other by chance, and since I had not spoken to her at the Tremont, we were catching up. I’m afraid I got carried away. Again, entirely my fault. Please hold the lady blameless.”
“Oh, I do,” William said. “She has never given me cause to doubt her.” He took hold of her arm, lacing it through his own.
To Rose at least, it was apparent that Finn bristled, a flash of hostility crossing his handsome face. For a moment, she thought he might drop his conciliatory demeanor and move to break her and William apart.
“It was good to see you again, Mr. Bennet,” she said, the words sounding forced, crossing her tongue like sandpaper.
“I don’t think you should meet again,” William said, staring hard at Finn, “unless you are in the company of friends or family. Not if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
With uncharacteristic rudeness that bespoke how upset he really was, William turned on his heel, taking Rose with him locked to his side. With long strides that forced her to hurry to keep up, he swept them through the Common toward Beacon St, presumably with her mother’s house as their destination.
She didn’t dare even turn her head to glance back at her husband.
They walked in silence for a few minutes until William began to slow his pace. Finally, when out of sight of those in the grassy park, he stopped.
“I apologize,” he said to her against all expectations. She thought he would be accusing her and quite rightly so. “I acted badly back there,” he continued. “In my defense, I was so surprised to witness him reach out and touch you as I approached.”
Grateful that William was not an angry, mistrustful man, Rose melted against his side. “No, it is I who am sorry. I should have stepped farther away from him. I was too familiar with Mr. Bennet, but he is, as I said, an old friend. From my late teen years.”
William smiled weakly. “Ah, your wild years.”
