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Asquith’s chest tightened. He hadn’t understood the extent of Millie’s distress over their parents’ marriage. And if Millie, fierce Millie, was so deeply wounded, how much greater harm had been inflicted on sensitive Lenora?

“How bad?” he asked softly.

“My father was prone to snide insults. He was constantly exasperated by everything and everyone, especially his daughters. Eliza challenged him most often, but when Eliza misbehaved, many times she did not suffer because he couldn’t tell the difference between Cassie and Eliza.”

“So you bore the brunt.”

Millie nodded.

But Lenora had suffered blows, too. He’d recognized that when she’d reacted to his raised voice by cowering. At the time, he’d been too upset himself to completely understand the implication.

Her father had been violent and cruel.

I act because, on my own, I have never been enough.

Ah, Lenora. That’s why she sought refuge in fantasy. She protected herself by pretending to be someone else.

“Was your father—” Millie asked.

“No,” he cut her off. “My father was a prince.” His tenderness expanded with deeper parental understanding. “A gentleman through and through. I—I had no idea men could be any other way. Not, at least, until...”

She touched his arm. “Until what, Simon?”

Asquith chuckled without mirth. “Unintentionally, you’ve cut to the matter’s heart. I’ve known the cruelty of boys, and of men.” And he knew what it was like to be forced into making repulsive choices. “I’ve experience enough to understand your reluctance to place yourself entirely in one’s keeping.”

She studied him, still skeptical.

He looked away. “At school, they used to call me Scared Simon. Lily-Livered Landon.”

“What? But you’re fearless,” she exclaimed. “With the right horse, you can jump any hurdle.”

“As can you.” How like Millie to equate horsemanship with general mastery of life. “But that hasn’t kept you out of trouble.”

“No,” she reluctantly agreed.

“And, no matter what you think of my equestrian skills, even you told me you could not believe I had put a gun to Harbury’s head.”

She scowled. “Because Harbury is a duke, not because I thought you were a coward.”

He smiled wryly. She was loyal. Like Lenora.

“I wasn’t a coward, but neither was I prepared for conflict.” He sighed. “If anything, my parents loved me too much. The first time I confronted true malice, I simply froze.”

But he’d never told them, either. He’d never asked for guidance, for help.

Her gaze turned sympathetic. “Well, I trust you, and I don’t trust any other man. Neville holds you in esteem, too. The bond between you is clear.”

Gratitude for the gift of her trust filled him. But he needed to redirect her attention. He lifted her hand from his arm. “I no longer need reassurance, much as yours is appreciated.” He closed his fingers over her own. “I just want you to know that I know what it’s like to be tormented.”

“You’ve just given me a whole new reason to distrust men.”

He rubbed his forehead. “That was the opposite of my intention.”

She frowned. “Why are you telling me this now?”

He covered his mouth and then drew his fingers slowly down his face, as if he were smoothing an invisible beard. Then he dropped his hand, turned away, went over to the lantern.

She watched him quizzically as he adjusted its wick.