The duke closed the door but did not turn around. Instead, he put his forehead and both hands on the wide oak slab as if the ancient wood could lend him strength.
Oliver took a deep breath. “Lady Henrietta is innocent in this matter.” His voice cracked. “She happened upon me, and she did fall, and I did catch her, and I was the one who took advantage.”
Crispin finally pushed away from the door and began pacing, running both hands through his red hair.
“Shit, shit, shit. Of all men, I would have never thought you— How could you, Oliver?”
He didn’t know. Even now, it was inconceivable to him that he had kissed his friend’s daughter.
“I— I have no excuse. I am unworthy, but I will, of course, offer for your daughter’s hand.”
“This is a hell of a thing. The gossip will be sickening.”
“I hope you believe Lady Henrietta was not at fault here. I am entirely to blame.”
Crispin finally faced Oliver. The duke radiated fury, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his brow thunderous, his eyes flashing with a murderous, green fire.
“Of course, she’s not at fault. She doesn’t have a devious bone in her body. Couldn’t lay a plan to trap a man if her life depended on it.”
Oliver steeled himself for a blow, but suddenly the duke’s rage drained away and his broad shoulders slumped. It was a monstrous thing to see Crispin reduced and defeated this way.
And Oliver had been the cause.
When Crispin spoke again, it was an anguished mutter. “I will go wake my wife. Maybe she’ll have some idea of what to do. Because, at this moment, I can think of no solution except?—”
Crispin cut himself short as he flung the door open and strode from the room, cursing.
Except, Oliver was sure he had been about to say,giving my precious daughter away to a man who wouldn’t know the first thing about treating a wife well.
Henrietta fretted. There was no question of sleep. Something terrible was going to happen.
Perhaps it could all be hushed up? She had heard whispers about other young ladies being compromised and ruined. But that hadn’t been what had been going on. Not at all.
Poor Mr. Hartwell, having to face her father’s anger. When it was her fault.
But she never could have let him cry alone. She never could have let him leave the room without trying to make him feel better.
And she couldn’t regret she had had her first kiss. And for that first kiss to have come from Mr. Hartwell? For her to have wished for him to be happy and he had decided what would make him happy was kissing her? Such things didn’t happen to Henrietta. It was a kiss out of someone else’s life.
She put her fingers to her mouth. How idiotic she had been. Turning to stone like that, not knowing what to do. Not taking advantage of those brief seconds of closeness. Not kissing him back. If only she had been paying better attention while it was happening. The memory of the sensation was already fading, and she wanted to grab it and hold it tightly so she could remember the kiss forever.
After what seemed hours and just when she was on the verge of falling sleep while sitting up on the edge of her bed, her mother swept in without knocking, wringing her hands, her usual dreamy vagueness nowhere to be seen.
“Are you all right, my darling girl?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Hen, I’m so sorry. I’ve failed you.”
“No, Mama. What do you mean?”
Her mother tilted Henrietta’s chin up and examined her. “Dear heart, you are so much like your father, all impulsive passion and tenderness. And I love that about both of you, so I never taught you to guard against it.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. And neither did Mr. Hartwell. Not really, I don’t think. It was just a kiss.”
Her mother sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. “In this stupid, modern age and in the idioticallynarrow-minded circles we move in, there’s no such thing asjust a kiss. There should be, but there isn’t. And it’s all made worse because the kiss was in front of the Ramseys and the other gentlemen. With you in your nightdress. Mr. Hartwell understands how it must appear. He immediately offered for your hand to spare you scandal.”
“But he’s still mourning his wife, Mama. He doesn’t want to marry me!”
