But Hart had come to know her. He saw the lines of fatigue at the corners of her eyes. They didn’t lessen her beauty; they bespoke her power, and signified the life she was carrying in her and the bloody fear she carried and—
He closed his eyes.
She was so damned afraid, or she had been. She had come to Hart, and he had rejected her. He hadn’t just rejected her; he’d cut her off at the knees. Then, he kept hacking away like an avenging angel—driven by his own demons, and a jealousy he had never known.
And how quickly she went and found another…
The devil delighted in pointing out. Hart sat yearning for her while she smiled for Kilmartin.
What choice did she have?
What choice would any woman in her position have?
He realized he’d rather face the sickening truth of her happy marriage to Kilmartin than see her sell herself to a lech just to give her babe a name and security. Unlike Hart’s mother, who had…
“…Did you ever consider the mother you refer to as a whore found love from a man capable of loving her and not some empty ancestral title and the power it brought him?”
He felt a narrowing sensation, fear rising as it became harder to breathe.
“Your Grace?”
He ignored Lady Angela; his mind was trapped on that question.
What was the answer?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t even know his questions anymore—there were just too many.
Why shouldn’t she want the other man?
What if she didn’t lie to you…? What if the babe is…?
His mind veered from the question haunting him since she confessed her love.
Does it matter who the babe belongs to?
Certainly. It must…
He couldn’t be with a woman carrying illegitimate issue…
But…what did it matter if there was her…?
That question came as he caught a glimpse of Linnie and Tremaine leaving the box.
Hart stiffened. Would they leave Fleur alone with bloody Kilmartin? His nostrils flared. Did they not have a brain between the two of them? What of the lady’s reputation…?
Kilmartin brushed his knuckles along the back of Fleur’s arm.
It was that caress. The slight dusting, only Hart at his vantage point, the beautiful pair could see.
Searing white-hot rage ripped through his veins.
Nothing made sense.
The world was on fire.
He was.
