She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a bland look. “Good morning, Lord Huntington. What can I do for you?”
One, two, three, four…
Finn tapped his riding crop against his boot and tried to gather himself together, but even after several minutes of tapping, he didn’t speak. As soon as he opened his mouth ugliness would pour out of him—a dark, writhing mass of jealousy, anger, and unjust accusations.
Had she been testing her newfound knowledge of a gentleman’s anatomy on Wrexley? The villain had been about to kiss her—Finn had seen that much when he entered the stables. Wrexley’s hands had been on her, his mouth lowering to her upturned face.
Snap, snap, snap…
His riding crop slapped harder against his boot, the smack of cane against leather deafening in the quiet stables.
Had she encouraged him? Had she run her fingertips over his lips, as she’d done to Finn in the library last night? Had Wrexley given her the kiss Finn had failed to give her in Lady Fairchild’s garden?
Christ, jealousy was a foul emotion, especially when it was tangled with fury and panic, and all of it was crushing his chest at once. He’d sealed himself off from strong emotions for most of his lifetime, but his feelings for her swept him up in a whirling vortex, and no amount of kicking and struggling would free him. She’d set them all loose, and jealousy swarmed him now, picking and jabbing and jerking him about like a flock of buzzards with a rancid carcass.
“Lord Huntington? Do you have something you wish to say to me?”
Yes. An entire lifetime of words, but I don’t know how to say any of them.
“I take it you rode Chaos this morning.” He gestured toward the horse, but then his hand fell back to his side in a helpless gesture. “You’re not hurt?”
She looked down at herself, then back up at him, one eyebrow raised. “As you see.”
Finn nodded. Jesus, he was bloody awful at this. “It seems I underestimated your equestrienne skills after all, then. I beg your pardon.”
His words were so stiff and awkward one would never guess at the turmoil roiling under the surface. Before her, he’d never realized how treacherous words could be. Relying on them was like seeing a glimpse of a face in a mirror’s reflection, and believing it revealed the entire person.
“I thought we had Captain West’s permission to ride him.” Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t say she’d trusted Wrexley only to find out he’d lied to her.
At any other time, Finn would have said it himself—he would have seized this opportunity to rail about Wrexley’s deceitful nature, his selfishness, the way he manipulated every situation to his advantage—but this time, he didn’t say any of that, because this wasn’t about Wrexley anymore. “No harm was done. Captain West will understand, once you explain the situation to him.”
“Yes, I…yes, of course I will.” She hesitated, her face uncertain, but when he didn’t speak again she took a few steps toward the stable doors.
Now. It had to be now. He’d find the words, once he started speaking.
“Wait, please.” He laid a hand on her arm when she tried to brush past him. “I want to speak to you first. I have something to tell you. I—I should have told you days ago, as soon as we arrived at Hadley House.”
She searched his face, and whatever she saw in his eyes made her pause. “All right.”
Finn never talked about what had happened with Diana Hughes—not just to protect her and her sisters’ reputations, though that was part of it. Very few people knew he’d been betrothed to her, and even fewer knew about the scandal with Wrexley, and that was for the best for all concerned.
But there was another reason he didn’t speak of it.
Shame.
He was ashamed he hadn’t seen what Wrexley was about from the start—ashamed he hadn’t protected the lady he cared for from ruination at the hands of a merciless rake.
He tried not to even think about his doomed betrothal to Miss Hughes. He’d locked that year of his life down tight in his chest, and he’d kept it there for seven years. It would have remained there forever, if it hadn’t been for Iris Somerset.
A game of bowls, a race across the gardens—perhaps those things were harmless enough, but this morning she’d gone off alone with Wrexley, without telling anyone. Not even her sister knew where she’d gone. She’d returned unharmed, yes, but what if she hadn’t returned at all? What if Chaos had thrown her, and she’d been hurt? What if Wrexley had forced her to run off with him?
Finn had to make her understand Wrexley wasn’t her friend, but his commands and threats, his warning and bluster—none of it moved her. She wouldn’t be intimidated, or controlled, or coerced in any way.
It was why he’d fallen in love with her.
Ever since he’d inherited his title, the fact that he was the Marquess of Huntington had been enough to make people scurry to do his bidding. He’d never had to offer anything more. To be anything more.
Until her.
