“Lady Fleur.”
He shook his head.
“…How can you not know, Henry? It is you. I love you…”
He felt a catch in his throat.
Fleur had been the first and only person to utter those words. Yes, he and Tremaine loved one another, but it was understood; brothers didn’t express those sentiments. Perhaps that is why he remained here, his chest aching because of her betrayal, letting them repeat in his mind, clinging to them like a child…
Kilmartin gave his arm another squeeze. “You know she does,” he said gravely.
“…How can you not know, Henry? It is you. I love you…”
“I do not know that.” He didn’t recognize the strangled sound of his own voice.
“…I love you… I love you… I love you…”
Kilmartin flashed a small smile. “With the way the lady looks for you and at you, how can you not know it?”
With the way the lady looked for him…
And then the stronger voice, the one of reason and restraint…
“…You bear the name Hart as a reminder that you do not have one…to never let yourself be weak…”
How dare Kilmartin get into his head? How dare Hart get into his own head, questioning himself, questioning things he knew to be true…about women. About Fleur…
Except, she wasn’t like other—
Stop!
“Tell me, have you always been in the habit of sharing my history with others? Or was this a one-off? I had expected more from a man of your caliber.”
A dull flush filled Kilmartin’s too bloody damned good-looking features. “It was not a decision I arrived at lightly. Ultimately, I considered the ramifications of sharing versus not sharing,” he said tightly, “and concluded the benefits to you outweighed the potential harm.”
“I’m to assume this is something you do often.”
“Don’t be an arse, Hart,” Kilmartin said.
“Divulging an employer’s private circumstances is a sackable offense. No one would fault me.”
“Then sack me.”
“You would never work again.”
“Pfft. You have an inflated sense of yourself and underestimate mine. I have built enough connections and wealth of my own. I’m not reliant on yours.”
Damn him for coming back unaffected, over and over.
“But you do not have a title.” Hart sneered. “Is that why you wanted mine?”
“Wanted yours?” Kilmartin stared at him as if a second head had just sprouted from his shoulders. “Do you truly think all these years I’ve been your friend, and in your employ, I’ve been coveting your title?”
“Are you?”
“Am Iwhat?”
“A friend.”
