Insidious ideas and images continued coming: the ease with which his man-of-affairs held Fleur; the protective way Kilmartin had cradled her, held her while she cried…
His stomach revolted.
I’m going to be ill…
But…why?
Wouldn’t it be ideal if the gentleman who ruined her had been Kilmartin? Rogue though the other man might be, it would not take much to make the other man do right by her.
“Timing your entrance?” he asked without looking back.
Kilmartin stepped onto the terrace. “The same way you did?”
Hart didn’t admit the truth—there had been nothing timed or planned in his earlier arrival. He’d followed Fleur’s flight and that of her family’s at her heels.
His friend had just joined him at the bench where Fleur had cried when it became too much.
“Did you fuck her?”
Kilmartin stilled mid-movement and then completed his step. “I’m afraid you are going to have to be more spec—”
“Bloody hell, Fleur,” he exploded on a hiss. “Did you…did you…?”
Sedate as a Quaker, Kilmartin reached inside his jacket and helped himself to a cheroot. “‘Fuck her,’ is the term I believe you used?” He held his rolled scrap out for Hart to light.
When Hart made no move to help, Kilmartin arched a brow. He availed himself of the nearest glass lantern and then returned, calmly puffing at his Spanish papelate.
Kilmartin exhaled through the left side of his mouth. “At what point did my responsibilities to you include sharing the names of women I’ve bed—”
Snarling, Hart released his cigarillo and grabbed Kilmartin by the front of his jacket. His chest moving like a billowing ship, he dragged Kilmartin in and gave him a shake. “She is Tremaine’s in-law—”
“Since when did you care about the McQuoids?” his man-of-affairs drawled.
Hart’s vision tunneled to black. He shook the equally built man harder.
“I’ve tolerated enough of your temper, Hartwell. Unhand me, now.” Kilmartin’s cordial tones were belied by the steely warning underneath them.
My God, what was happening to him? His pulse pounding inside his head, Hart abruptly released his friend.
His friend who might or might not have been Fleur’s mystery love—
Insanity won out. “Did you, Kilmartin?”
“No.”
He braced for a rush of relief, but it didn’t come.
Because knowing it wasn’t Kilmartin didn’t erase the fact that there was some man out there who had wooed Fleur with pretty words, ruined her, and likely forgot all about that night that had meant so much to her.
Hart swept a tired hand along his face. “I have several jobs for you. They take priority.”
Kilmartin waited.
He explained the first order of business involving Fleur. “I want that delivery made to Lady Fleur before she leaves her sister’s affair and waiting upon her return. When that’s done, I want a list of every man in attendance at Rutland’s masquerade on my desk this evening.”
Kilmartin bowed his head and waited to be dismissed.
Hart thought a moment. “One last thing. I want discreet inquiries made on the morrow at Rundell and Bridge’s.”
