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“I’m sure he’s found women who said no to him.” She tried reasoning.
He nodded. “And you don’t want to know what happened to them.”
“This bad?” Her brows pleated, her distress threatening to return.
“Look.” He caught her by her shoulders. “You must go back to the other house.”
“This one is my home.” She countered.
He inhaled, eyes closing as if gathering patience. “I bought that one, it’s in your name.”
That shocked her so much that she sprang from his lap. “You what?” She stared at him as though he’d bought the whole of England. “I’ll take nothing from you.”
“No news in that, is it?” He also stood from the couch. “You move back in.”
Her hand rubbed her brow, still stunned. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“But I did it anyway.” He answered, hands bracketing his tapered hips. “Living in it will give the impression you’re still under my protection.”
“But I am not, and I don’t wish to be.” She uttered firmly.
“Did you hear what I said—give the impression.” One of his large hands raked his wavy hair. “No strings attached.” He completed, and she eyed him suspiciously. “I mean it. You can change the lock if you don’t believe me.”
She filled her starved lungs. “I-thank you but running will make it worse.”
“You’ll not be running, for heaven’s sake! Few know you left me.” The forceful note in his tone was unmistakable.
“I didn’t leave you!” Her turn for vehemence. “You decided to marry.”
“I didn’t, but you won’t take my word for it.” His stare right on hers.
Both silenced, realising that lay beside the point.
“One thing for sure, I’m not going back there.” Hester resumed the discussion. Living in that little cosy house would bring memories she was already struggling to forget. They would weaken her, making it much more difficult to let go, to accept her place in this world, and in his life.
“All right.” He lifted his palms to her in a sign of compromise. “Fine. Do as you wish, but I’ll assign a footman to watch over you.” At her resistant glare, he added. “This is non-negotiable.”
“Blast it! You’re a hard nut to crack.” Hester vented.
His features crumpled again. “Me?” He argued. “I’m not the one bent on rewriting ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ backwards.” He accused.
In that play, Hester mused, Shakespeare must have supplied solace to the whole of his ruffled-feathers male readers. The woman who wouldn’t conform to live by men’s standards, suddenly and out of nowhere, becoming submissive and docile in the end. Ha! And here stood the male who inherited the whole rank structure, telling her she started docile then rebelled against the centenary mistress arrangement.
“Oh, yes.” She quipped. “How convenient to invoke such a soothing play about every man’s dream of the perfect woman.” And the worst was that many of those women bought into this fallacy, Hester despaired.
“Pity it didn’t serve as your role-model.” There was a drop of jest in this, which surprised her.
“I prefer to be my own model, thank you very much.” She maintained.
Silence fell anew with him looking at her with a glint she’d not seen before, something akin to admiration and another element she couldn’t decipher. Their eyes merged with a million undercurrents vibrating between them. The only thing that came to her mind was that she might beg him to kiss her like he did on that empty stage and never stop until they died of it.
But she forced herself out of this haze by dispelling it with words. "Would you like tea or something?" Not
that she afforded all those luxury drinks he stocked that other house with, and she hadn't been to the market for supplies with her busy day.
His gaze didn’t waver as his head shook slightly. “You’ll agree that it’s wiser for me to leave.”
Her head did. As for other parts of her, she wouldn’t put her hand in the fire for them. In truth, they were already on fire.
