He stopped on the track of tears left on her cheeks.
His stomach knotted.
He bloody despised tears. They were, at best, pitiful symbols of a person’s weakness. At best, they were cleverly wielded weapons aimed at weakening and getting someone—usually awoman—what they wanted. Given his loathing for those pathetic drops, he should be relieved she saved them for someone else.
It was, after all, Kilmartin’s job to deal with all the unpleasantness Hart didn’t want to.
But Fleur’s tears? They were neither. Not if she had stolen outside and buried her face in Kilmartin’s bloody broad shoulder, with no witnesses around.
Wrong.
There was one witness—Hart.
He tightened his hands into white-knuckled fists.
Fleur cleared her throat.
“Henry. I wasn’t feeling well. Lord Cassian checked after me.”
LordCassian, was he?
Hart found a healthy target for his rage. “Kilmartin was checking on you because he saw your family’s suspicious departure and knows his job.”
Hisfriendmade a disapproving sound. “That’s not in good form, Hartwell.”
Hart swung a black glare on the gentleman. “Get out.”
Bloody Kilmartin did not heed the order.
The deuced handsome,charmingfellow instead looked to Fleur.
To Fleur! For permission? To confirm—after she’d spent unknown minutes alone with Kilmartin—whether she felt safe withHart.
Hart’s nostrils flared, and a searing heat ripped through his veins.
Then Fleur lifted her watery gaze to Kilmartin. Then, even bloody worse, she gave a small, near-indiscernible nod.
The two—Fleur and Hart’sfriend—communicated in a hush that suggested deep familiarity. No, not just familiarity:intimacy. Theirs was a shared lovers’ language that required no words.
“Unless you are looking for new employment, I suggest you leave immediately,” Hart managed to say with a silk smoothness belied by the undertows of rage channeling through him.
Kilmartin departed; his bow, before leaving, was directed solely at Fleur. When he had gone, Hart swung the full extent of his anger on the sole person who remained.
“I asked you a question,” he said. “What was—What is this all about?” Hart slashed a hand furiously at the air.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be clearer, Your Grace.”
Your Grace, was he? While Kilmartin had become LordCassian?
Fleur started to leave, like the matter was settled, like he knew what the bloody matter even was.
Hart caught her lightly by the arm. “Why did you leave the floor?” Was it because she hadn’t wanted to see him with Lady Angela, any more than he had wanted to see her with bloody Markham?
“I felt unwell,” she said, steadily as sunshine and just as bright.
Somehow, he managed not to snort.
“What ailment complains you? Jealous you didn’t have all eyes on you for once, Lady Fleur?” he said.
