Page 19 of To Follow her Heart

Luke put his head in his hands. He wished he was a different sort of man, a man of action, someone bold and brave and clever; someone who deserved to win a woman like Kitty. A man like that would find a way… maybe he’d even murder bloody Derby and run away with the woman he loved.

It wasn’t an unappealing idea, but even in the overwrought state Luke was in, murder was beyond him.

She’d made him feel as if he could be that man, once. Kitty had made him brave, had shown him the beauty of a world that had looked dark and dismal. When she’d looked at him, he’d felt he could conquer the world with her at his side, even though he’d been just a boy. Now, after so many years of being lectured at by Mr Derby and the earl, of having his every word and deed scrutinised, of being forced to avoid anything resembling a risk… he felt like a dried-up husk, old before his time. They had sucked the life from him, the joy in living taken away from him in their fear of his dying and leaving the Trevick name to crumble to dust with his bones.

Just those brief moments in her company, though….

He’d remembered what it was to live.

For the time he’d held her in his arms, he’d come alive, his heart beating again after so many years packed away and gathering dust, forced back to life with the power of a lightning strike.

Only now he wanted that feeble organ packed back away in the dust again, back in the dark and gloom he’d forced it into. He didn’t want to feel it thudding in his chest, reminding him he was young yet and alive—so bloody alive—not when it beat for her and her alone, and she… she was everything he could not have.

Mr Derby had made no idle threat. Lady Frances’ father, the Duke of Lymington, wanted this match every bit as much as the earl. If Luke disobeyed them and married against their wishes, Trevick would destroy the Connollys. Their mills would be boycotted, and the family bankrupted. Then there was Kitty, Derby would ruin her somehow, and take pleasure in it—not that she needed the help, with this outrageous scheme of hers. When all that was done, Lymington would ruin him.

Somehow, he had to make her change her mind. He had to see her and make her understand, except she would never understand. She wouldn’t care about the dangers, she wouldn’t even contemplate them. Kitty had always charged ahead, feet first. She jumped without looking, climbed without considering… she lived with her whole heart.

The only thing that would stop her was if she believed he didn’t care, didn’t want her.

Luke’s heart—the wretched thing that he’d not allowed to feel or experience or so much as beat with anything resembling an emotion—now it swelled in his chest, pain and sorrow and hurt expanding to push at his ribs and crush the air from his lungs. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look at her and tell her she was wrong, that she meant nothing and that he didn’t care.

Yet he must. He must for her sake, for his, and for those who depended on him.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself, the same as he’d told himself these past ten years. Trevick would be dead one day—soon, he hoped, as wicked as it was to think it. The man’s health was failing, and Luke was certain it was little more than spite and ambition keeping him alive.

He’d live to see Luke married to the woman he’d picked out, perhaps long enough to see his heir born, he was that desperate for surety. Derby would follow him soon enough. The man’s vile temper would provoke another attack, like the one earlier this year, and his heart would give out.

Then Luke would be Trevick, powerful enough to protect those he loved, but too late to protect Kitty. Still, once his heirs were born, he’d be free to do as he pleased, to live as he wanted, he could… he could….

He could watch Kitty marry another man and bear his children.

Oh, God.

***

Jasper made his way down to breakfast at some appalling hour of the morning he’d not seen in years. There were birds singing, for heaven’s sake, and he’d startled his valet half to death by yelling for his attention, instead of waiting for the fellow to waken him with coffee like any sensible man of his rank.

He rarely rose much before noon. His lifestyle was comprised of late nights, overindulgence, and sleeping away as much of the day as he could. You could avoid a great deal of unpleasantness—not to mention thinking—by keeping such unsociable hours.

Last night’s emotional scenes had left him all on edge, though, and he’d not drunk nearly enough to calm him, as he’d promised his mother to be on his best behaviour for this entire blasted party. So, sleep had eluded him.

All he could see when he’d closed his eyes was the devastation and determination in Kitty Connolly’s expression. It was as though her heart had been carved from her chest and exposed to his gaze and he’d realised… he had one just like it.

What revolting drivel.

Despite experiencing a bout of nausea at such romantic twaddle, Jasper was aware of a surge of resentment towards Mr Baxter which was both inappropriate and inexplicable. Yet the object of the man’s youthful passion still returned his feelings, and with such fierce and unalloyed joy that Jasper could not help the surge of jealousy that welled in his chest whenever he thought of it.

He wanted that. He wanted to be wanted like that, damn it.

Telling himself he was a blasted fool didn’t seem to help a bit, and he felt irritable and befuddled. Coffee, he decided. Coffee and a brisk ride would set him to rights. With that in mind, he headed to the breakfast room and paused on the threshold as three sets of eyes looked up at him in surprise.

His mother, Miss Hunt, and Harriet were already at the table, and deep in conversation.

“Goodness, how long have we been here?” his mother said in alarm, swivelling her head to stare at the clock on the mantle. “Oh,” she said with relief, and then frowned, turning back to Jasper. “Are you ill, darling?”

“No,” he said, though why the question annoyed him he didn’t know. Except that Harriet didn’t need the idea that he was a useless good-for-nothing enforced any harder, even if it were true. “I am quite well, thank you.”

“Well, I can’t wonder at it if you couldn’t sleep,” his mother said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Harriet has been telling me everything that occurred last night, and I was never more shocked. Poor Miss Connolly, and poor Mr Baxter.”