“I’m sorry. I never meant for things to get out of hand between us. I just…”
“Just what?” he asked, a pulse beginning to beat at the base of his skull. Good God, he’d been prepared to cast aside his every belief, his predilection for the fairer sex. Devil take it, he’d decided to change his entire lifestyle for the sake of a woman he’d thought was a man.
Her actually being a woman ought to relieve him. The possibility that this might have been the reason behind the attraction should be a welcome realization. It ought to make him feel better. Except it did not.
Because the point was, he’d been had in the worst way possible.
“I liked you too much to stay away,” Harriet whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Like hell you are,” he snarled.
“Please listen. I can explain.”
“Nothing you say will ever be good enough. Harry, the man I was prepared to give up everything for, doesn’t exist. He’s an illusion.”
“We’re the same person,” she said as tears rolled down her flushed cheeks.
He steeled himself against them – forced himself to be strong. It was likely another trick, intended to manipulate him into showing remorse. He shook his head. “No. You’re not. My God… I spoke to you of French letters and how to avoid the pox.”
Harriet had, in point of fact, forced him to act dishonorably in every conceivable way.
“I did it for Lucy. Please, Brody, if—”
“I’m either Your Grace or Mr. Evans to you from now on,” he informed her darkly. “And you are a charlatan, not a friend. Be warned, I shall never forgive you for this.”
“But I—”
Without waiting to hear her out, he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. He’d never been so insanely furious in his life. She’d wrecked everything from the very beginning, pretending to be the charming, sweet lad he’d eventually lost his heart to. A heart that was currently shattered into a thousand pieces.
So Harriet Michaels could go and rot for all he cared. He was personally done with her forever.
17
Harriet scampered out of the bath and snatched up the towel she’d left on a nearby chair. Once dry, she grabbed some padding to stop her courses, put on her trousers, and flung her shirt over her head before bolting from the room. She had to find him. She had to explain.
Barefooted, she ran to the room she suspected was his and proceeded to knock. No answer. She knocked again, then tried the handle. The door opened and she glanced inside the large space which was dwarfed by a massive canopy bed. Blast it, he wasn’t there. She shut the door and hastened toward the stairs.
This was precisely what she’d feared, only so much worse because they’d kissed. Had that been just a little over an hour ago? It was hard to imagine with everything turned upside down. Gone was the fondness with which Brody watched her, the heat in his eyes as he’d captured her mouth. In its place had been pure anger and hatred. He loathed her for the deception and who could blame him?
It had been wrong. She should have revealed herself before he discovered the truth. But when, and how, and at what potential cost? Until tonight she’d not believed she could trust him, and by then she’d realized it was too late. As soon as they’d kissed – the moment he’d let down his guard – she’d known confessing the truth could only lead to disaster.
And so it had, without her saying a thing.
Leaping off the second to last step, she landed in the foyer and dashed toward the parlor. This room, too, was empty. Perhaps he’d returned to the library? Not finding him there either and having checked the dining room for good measure, she approached the last remaining door. The one that led to his study.
Shaking from head to toe as a sudden chill gripped her, she struggled to catch her breath before giving the door a few raps. When no one answered, she eased it open and was instantly met by a furious scowl.
“I don’t have time for this now,” Brody said. Sitting behind his desk, he held a sheet of paper between his hands. “Go to bed. We’ll address your deviousness in the morning.”
She did her best to brush off his words and failed. The accusation, so harshly spoken, stung. Her eyes began to prick once again with a fresh onslaught of tears. Speaking without dissolving into a sniveling mess would be hard, but she had to try.
“I only want to explain why I did it.” When he said nothing, appearing instead to fight for some sense of calm, she stepped into the room and closed the door. It did not escape her notice that he remained seated, or that he refrained from inviting her to sit. Wringing her hands, she faced him – the man she loved beyond all else – and prayed she’d find the right words. “My sister and I are gentry.”
He snorted. “Another thing you lied about. How predictable.”
She took a deep breath and willed her heart into a steadier rhythm. Somehow, she’d get through this. “Not a lie, just something I never mentioned.”
“A deception nonetheless.”
