Page 45 of One Waltz with the Viscount

He swallowed. It was impossible to ever say that you hated someone who had died tragically, but Miss Shepherd was right. When Anne had told him that she had never loved him, that she had only married him because of the life she thought he would give her, it was the closest he had ever come to hating a person who wasn’t his father. What made it worse was that he still loved her at the same time.

‘Then there was the fire, and I suspect ever since you’ve been wracked with guilt, because you wished for a way out of your unhappy marriage and the fire made that wish come true.’

‘I never wanted Anne to be hurt. All I wanted was my freedom.’

‘You have suffered more than one man should have to suffer in a lifetime,’ she said softly, ‘but it has made you wary. That is not a bad thing in small doses, but you have constructed a scenario where you cannot get hurt.’

‘That is unfair. This battle with my father is not of my making.’

‘I know, but you have chosen to engage with him. For years you refused to toe the line. It meant estrangement, surviving on very little money, having to find your own way in the world. I understand you feel there is no other way to build a relationship with your sister, and you may be right, but choosing this path means you will not have to risk your own heart again. You will be married to a woman you do not care about, who therefore will not be able to hurt you as your first wife did.’

If he had not been sitting, Henry would have staggered back at this point. He had told her all the details of his past so she might understand his position better, but here she was analysing his every action and accusing him of choosing an easy path.

He felt his emotions rise, his voice thick with suppressed anger. ‘None of this is easy.’

Her face crumpled. She reached out and touched his hand ever so lightly with her fingertips, not caring for a moment who saw the overly familiar gesture.

‘No, none of it is easy,’ she said, her voice warmer now. ‘You’ve had the worst few years, your heart has been battered and bruised again and again.’ She took a deep breath, her lips moving without making any sound—she was trying to find the right words. ‘I do not mean to accuse you of taking the easy path. I do not think any decision you’ve had to make in recent years has been easy.’

He felt some of the anger simmer and then recede, but his body was still stiff, as if his tense muscles could protect him from the words that were yet to come.

‘Will you look at me, Henry?’ She spoke softly, his given name like honey on her lips. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘I think you are the best man I have ever met. You are kind and generous, despite everything you have been through. I would hate to see you condemn yourself to a life without love because of what happened with your first wife.’ She bit her lip, searching his eyes. He could see she was desperate for him to understand that she wasn’t saying this out of malice. ‘You deserve love and happiness, not marriage to a woman you do not like to satisfy someone else’s demands.’

It was too much to take in and Henry slumped back in his chair. If anyone looked over and focussed their attention on them right now, they would not see the composed Viscount and his companion who had entered the pleasure gardens. Henry was glad of the little protection the mask gave him.

‘Please say something,’ Miss Shepherd whispered.

‘What do you wish me to say? That the idea of ever trusting someone again with my heart seems completely and utterly impossible. Why would I do that to myself again? Or that it seems a little hypocritical that you have put your own future at risk to come to London to find your sister, but you counsel against me risking mine for the sake of Sophia.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Miss Shepherd...’

‘Sarah,’ she interrupted him. ‘Please call me Sarah.’

He only wished it was that easy to throw propriety aside. To throw expectation aside—that of his father and of society.

‘Miss Shepherd, I have tried marrying for love. It did not work. Marrying for duty may produce a more favourable result.’ It was petty to continue to be so formal with her, a horrible way to lash out and hurt her. He regretted it almost immediately when he saw the tears forming in her eyes.

‘You will be unhappy,’ she said, gripping his fingers tighter. ‘You are already unhappy.’

‘Who is to say I will be unhappy. Hundreds of marriages are arranged every year between couples who barely know one another. Some are unhappy, but most are tolerable.’

‘You deserve more than tolerable.’

‘Perhaps tolerable is all I want.’

She looked at him then, and it was as if her eyes were burning into his soul, teasing out every little secret, every hope and desire.

‘Is it?’

He searched for an answer, forcing himself to consider the question instead of just lashing out, but before he could form a cohesive thought they were interrupted.

‘Good evening, miss. I wonder if you would care to dance? I think the musicians are about to play a quadrille.’

Henry had never snarled at anyone in his life before, but his expression must have been terrifying—the young man recoiled as Henry looked up at him.

‘She is otherwise engaged,’ he growled.