Page 22 of Dare it all for Love

Henry looked away, trying to scoff at her answer and finding himself unable to do so. The word seemed to creep beneath his skin, to invade his blood, to settle in his heart.

“Why?” His voice was too rough, but something primal and possessive was thrashing about inside him and he couldn’t stop it. She was looking for a man who made her feel safe, but why? Who had made her feel less than safe? If someone had hurt her, he’d….

“Because the future scares me.”

He could not help but meet her eyes again, even though he knew it was dangerous. He saw the truth shining there, the fear.

“Why would you fear the future? You’re young and beautiful, you’ve a vast dowry. Surely you could have anyone you wanted?”

She snorted at that, a flicker of scorn showing in her lovely features. “Oh, yes, because an heiress will always attract the best men.”

Henry felt his brows draw together. “Well, yes. Obviously, there will be fortune hunters, but there are decent men too, aren’t there?”

He felt rather than saw her shrug. “Decent men who will control me, own me, take my money and dictate who I see and when, what I may wear, what I may speak of… Oh, yes, there’s plenty of those.”

The despair in her words was unmistakable.

“You’re young yet, Miss Knight, give it time….”

Her laugh was bitter, and he wanted never to hear such a sound from her again, this vivacious young woman who ought always to be full of joy.

“Perhaps another three years, and then I’ll be considered an old maid. You know it’s true as well as I do. I just—” Whatever she’d been going to say, she bit off the words and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Tell me,” he said, when he ought to have kept his mouth shut. He did not want to know about her troubles, her fears for the future, for there was not a damned thing he could do to help her. It seemed he could no longer control his wretched tongue, though, nor his desire to discover more.

She took a breath. “You’re always so proud of Harriet and never in awe of her cleverness. So many men dislike women who like to think for themselves, but from what I have seen you enjoy a spirited discussion, a woman who challenges you instead of agreeing with your every word. I feel you are the sort of man who would not crush the woman he married but… but be a friend to her as well as a lover. A man who would encourage her freedom but always remain a… a shelter from the storm.”

Henry cursed the sensation that lanced through him at her words: the unacceptable but undeniable desire to be everything she wanted, to be her shelter. Jasper was right, she was no child, but a woman with a mind of her own, one that would test him, that would never allow him to be complacent, one who would remind him what it was to live, to love….

No.

No.

That way led to misery and despair, for she would soon realise her mistake, realise she wanted a younger man, one her own age, not a fellow nigh on two decades her senior. He tried for an amused tone in reply.

“Well, I think a more tangible shelter from the storm is required, Miss Knight, and sooner rather than later.”

As they’d been talking, the sky had turned the colour of pewter and the temperature plummeted. The first fat drops of rain fell heavily, hitting the dry ground with distinctive thuds that came faster and faster. Henry muttered a curse under his breath, knowing they would need to shelter from the storm. Now he was in for it.

Chapter 6

Dear diary,

I am in despair. I am wearing a jovial mask, trying to be brave, to pretend all is well and my life does not hang in tatters. I am so frightened when I consider my future, of living in obscurity to hide my shame. I do not know how long I can keep up this façade, but I am afraid to face those I love most with the truth. Not because they will be angry, or condemn me, but because they will be heartbroken on my account, and I cannot bear to hurt them so.

―Excerpt of an entry to the diary of Miss Grace Weston (daughter of Jemima and Solo Weston, Lady and Baron Rothborn).

Still the 15th of August 1839, en route from Hever Castle to Holbrook House, Sussex.

“Hell!” Henry muttered, as thunder rumbled overhead. They could not shelter beneath a tree in a storm, but they were miles from any village yet. “I think I saw a shepherd’s hut not far from here. We’d best take cover until this passes. Hold on.”

Cursing the fates and the far too tempting young woman in his lap, he urged the horse into a canter as the rain fell with ever increasing vigour. In a matter of minutes they were soaked to the bone and the daylight subsumed in an unhealthy dirty grey glow as the sky glittered and cracked overhead. Henry urged his horse on, grateful that the lightening lit the way for long enough to show the low shape of a rustic wheeled hut up ahead through the torrent of the rain.

“Get inside,” he yelled over the din to Miss Knight as he towed the unhappy horse around to a rickety shelter. It was not in the best of upkeep, but it afforded the poor creature some respite from the wind and rain.

Henry relieved the beast of its saddle and settled it as best he could before hurrying back to the hut. He paused inside the door, a little surprised to discover Miss Knight had set about lighting the fire and got a creditable blaze going.

“What?” she asked, a defensive angle to her chin as she glared at him. “I know fashionable women are supposed to be defenceless and swoon at every opportunity but I’m simply not the helpless kind.”