The marquess insisted that Darien return to Langford House to complete his recovery, and Lady Clarinda made no protest to keep him. Henrietta offered no demurral either. She whisked Horatia away shortly after tea, and Darien found them packing his things in the bedchamber he had occupied.
Henry was blithely sending him on his way, and he had no declaration from her, no promise, not even a few silly, tender words. She could not simply walk away from him. She couldnot.
“—besotted,” Horatia was saying. “Lucretius and I used to laugh at the way girls cast lures at Daring and Lucifer. But the way he looks at you…”
“As if I were a thorn in his side?” Henrietta answered.
“As if you were food and drink together, all that could sustain him.” Horatia’s voice turned wistful. “I should like someone to look at me like that, someday.”
Henrietta shook out one of his shirts. “Miss Wollstonecraft believes it is better to inspire admiration for one’s wit and sense rather than passion for one’s person,” she said. “All the same, I hope you know your uncle is not the sad rattle he is made out to be.”
“Such talk is not meant for her ears,” Darien snapped. “I’ll do that.”
Henrietta lifted her eyebrow. “And how are you to manage with one arm? Horatia cannot; she is holding the baby.”
“Here, you angel,” Horatia cooed, rocking Celestina in her arms.
Darien growled and rubbed his shoulder, which ached like the devil. “We could have made our announcement tonight, Henry. Your father and mine are downstairs haggling over our marriage settlements as we speak.”
“Neither of them has thought to consult me on the matter,” she said, folding the shirt.
“Devil take it! Why won’t you marry me?”
She flared her eyes at him. “You kissed me in the Egyptian gallery for all to see. I can only assume you meant to draw attention away from my other scandalous behavior, which the broadsides have taken due note of, thank you. But everyone knows Lord Daring doesn’t marry on a kiss, and besides that, my reputation has already been damaged beyond repair. Ergo, you are under no obligation to extend your hand, nor I to accept it.”
Darien sent his niece a glare, encouraging her to retreat. She did, withdrawing with the baby to the sitting room where, with one hand, she turned over the haphazard stack of books on Henrietta’s desk.
He lowered his voice. “You kissed me back, Henry.”
She tucked the shirt into the valise Rutherford had provided. “A few kisses are hardly grounds for marriage.”
He stepped close, looming over her. Where was the luscious woman who had melted in his arms among the ancient artifacts? “There is more than kissing involved in a marriage.” He traced a finger along the alluring neckline of her gown. “I shall be happy to demonstrate.”
Her resistance baffled him. Lord knew he’d never denied himself gratification with anything. He didn’t understand what she wanted, and if he didn’t understand, how could he offer it and secure her to his side? Make her want no man but him?
She snatched up a cravat and flapped the cloth at him, forcing him to step back. “I would insist on certain conditions. You will not like them.”
“How many conditions?” he asked warily.
“Two come immediately to mind.”
Horatia moved past the doorway, humming to the baby, and her happiness was an accusation. In his own grief and blind obstinacy, he had allowed Ratty to drive his brother’s legacy to rack and ruin, just as his father said. Worse, he had neglected his niece, Horace’s remaining child. There was a liveliness in Horatia’s step and a glow on her cheek that had not been there when she’d arrived. She had flowered instantly under Henrietta’s attention. And the fault was his that Horatia had been deprived at all.
“I presume I am looking at your conditions,” Darien grated out.
“Horatia and Celestina comprise the first.” Henrietta folded his cravat with precision and tucked it into the valise beside his shirts.
“And the second?”
She faced him. “Your father’s suit,” she said in a quiet voice.
Darien stiffened, a cold despair washing through him. She, his hoped-for wife, was supposed to takehisside.
“You want me to do as he demands? Take away Lucien’s birthright, when it was never meant for—” Couldn’t she see how wrong it was? In his nightmares, he moved through Bellamy’s rooms as if he were the master of Horace’s domain, while Lucien bellowed from the family tomb in the graveyard. And Darien had put him there.
He had to make her see how impossible this demand was. He couldn’t meet it. She couldn’t ask it of him. “You wish to become a countess by courtesy, is that it? You’d be near the equal ofClarinda or Lady Bess. I am surprised a title could tempt you,” Darien snarled.
Henrietta didn’t rile at his insults. She stepped forward and placed her hands alongside his face, her gaze meeting his directly. He hated how vulnerable her touch made him feel, how much he craved her strength.
