Page 42 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

“Think nothing of it,” she said coolly, astonished that her voice remained steady when everything inside her was still quivering with shock and desire. “I am sure I shan’t.”

It took every iota of will to remain in the room, to gather the shreds of her pride and return her attention to the plans. She stared down at them, trying to make sense of what seemed now only an incomprehensible arrangement of lines. Her lips were still burning, the taste of his mouth and the faint trace of port invading her senses.

“Hetty,” his voice was soft, and Hetty feared that if he dared to apologise to her, she might lose her mind and do something appalling.

“The bathing rooms are very large, which is elegant, I’m sure, but might they be a bit chilly in the winter months—that’s assuming the hotel is open then, which I suppose it might not be. I can imagine it’s rather bleak here at that time, though I like the winter. There’s nothing like wrapping up warm and going for a brisk walk over hill and dale.” She was rambling, and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.

“Hetty, you must let me—”

“Oh, no. No, no. This is all wrong. You cannot put a dressing table there with the window behind, are you mad? It would mean the person attempting to do their hair or apply cosmetics is backlit. Their face would be in shadow, and if the sun is out, they are likely to be blinded. I cannot imagine what possessed you to place it so. Far better to put it beside a window, with the mirror angled to catch the light. There, you see, I knew you needed my help.”

She dared a glance at him to find him watching her curiously and turned her attention back to the plans, determined to find fault. If kissing her was such a mistake, she would show him the others he’d made too. It was petty and childish, but it was better than running from the room and crying.

“There’s not enough room for gowns. If you intend this to be a space for the highest ranks of the ton, you must understand that they will bring clothing enough for several months, even if they are only staying for a week.”

“There will be wardrobes in the rooms as well, I believe Mrs King has chosen a very elegant design.”

“Well, I am glad to hear someone thinks of a lady’s comfort. I hope that helps, Mr Bramwell. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a long day, and I am rather tired and—”

“Hetty, be quiet for a moment, damn you,” he growled, reaching for her as she hurried for the door. His hand closed on her arm and she stopped, glaring at it.

“Unhand me.”

“I will, only don’t run away from me. I never took you for a coward.”

She gasped with indignation, turning to glare at him as he released his grip on her.

“Fine,” she said, folding her arms. “Say your piece. Tell me what a mistake it was to kiss me and apologise for it. Explain how it ought never to have happened and that you wish it hadn’t. I’m sure you’ll feel m-much better.” Hetty snapped her mouth shut, hating herself for the telltale tremble in her voice.

His gaze softened and the idea that he might pity her only made her wilder still.

“Hetty, you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” she retorted, putting up her chin.

He made a sound of frustration, which she supposed she could not blame him for. She was awful. She knew she was, she always had been. Too quick to take offense, too ready to argue, too opinionated and ready to share those opinions whether or not they were wanted. Oh, why could she not learn to be quiet and biddable like Cilly?

“You are the most vexing woman alive, Hetty, but as clever as you are, or think you are, you do not know what goes on in my head, and I’ll thank you not to put words in my mouth.” He spoke with remarkable restraint, bearing in mind how hard she had tried to provoke him.

Hetty sighed and allowed a little of her anger to fall away. “I suppose that’s true,” she allowed, turning her back on him and busying herself with tidying the plans. “But you were going to apologise.”

“Guilty as charged, but I am not such a brute as all that. I may not be as charming as my brother, but I am not such a fool as to tell you I wished I hadn’t kissed you. Not when it wouldn’t be true, at least.”

Hetty’s hands stilled, and she turned, giving him a wary glance. “Oh?”

“It was a mistake,” he said firmly. “But I don’t regret it.”

“Well, I was half right,” she muttered.

He smiled at her, and the sight of it, wry and regretful, made her heart ache. Idiot.

“I am not for you, or for anyone. I am wedded to my work. As you have observed, I am ambitious, and I have no room in my life for a wife, certainly not for a family, even if I could afford such things. And besides all that, your father would have my head on a pike before he consented to such a match. The daughter of a duke could do rather better than the penniless younger son of a viscount.”

“I don’t believe I was expecting a marriage proposal,” Hetty replied crossly, trying to make herself believe his words had not shrivelled up some tiny seed of hope that had taken root in a hidden corner of her heart.

“Well, after a kiss like that, you ought to be.”

There was a somewhat awkward silence.