Page 55 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

“No, you spoke about it. I listened. I know very well that my father won’t approve of you, but that aside, I don’t see why you are so set against me when you clearly… well, you feel something for me.”

“Yes, the strong desire to shake you at intervals,” he retorted before shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that. I do like you, Hetty, but you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” she snapped, relenting when she saw the pain flickering in his eyes. “Please, Gideon,” she said, daring to use his given name, though he’d not invited her to do so.

His expression softened, the sound of his name wielding some kind of magic as he relaxed a degree, but he still shook his head. “I cannot. It’s private. A family matter, but… but I promised never to marry, Hetty. That’s all you need to know. Even if I had the funds, which I do not, it makes no odds, it changes nothing.”

“Because your mother is in an asylum?” The words were out before she could think better of them, and she stared in horror as his face turned ashen.

“Who told you that?” he demanded, such dread, such fear in his voice that she deeply regretted having said anything.

Hetty swallowed, noting that they had just turned onto the driveway that led to the Hall, she was running out of time to make him understand. “No one told me, Gideon, and I shall never tell another soul, I haven’t done so. Not even Cilly and we share everything. But you must not let your mama’s fate dictate yours. You know, I had an aunt and—”

“How do you know this?” he said, interrupting her before she could continue, and any warmth or affection was absent from his voice now. He was truly angry, and Hetty swallowed, twisting her fingers together, wishing she could recall the last two minutes and play them differently.

“W-when you fell asleep, the time you came to the Hall. Your coat was getting all wrinkled, so I picked it up to fold it more carefully and… and a letter fell out.”

“So you read it?” he exclaimed, eyes wide with incredulity.

“Certainly not!” she shot back, stung that he would think such a thing of her. “I just saw the sender’s address when I put it back. Not deliberately, I wasn’t looking, but I recognised it. The aunt I mentioned, you see, she went to the same place and after everything else you’d said about being wedded to your work and now that it is because of a family matter, well, it seemed obvious.”

“You are quite the detective, Lady Henrietta,” he said coldly, and there was no trace of admiration in the words now.

“Gideon,” she said, putting her hand on his arm but he was rigid now, tension rolling off him in waves.

“I believe we have reached your destination, my lady. Please stay away from building sites in the future.”

And from me, he didn’t say. He didn’t need to. She could read it in his eyes clearly enough.

“Don’t be cruel, Gideon,” she whispered, aware of Howard and a footman approaching the gig. “I meant no harm. Far from it.”

“Lady Henrietta has suffered a slight mishap,” he called to Howard, ignoring her words as they hurried forward and helped her from the gig. “I hope you make a swift recovery, my lady. Good day to you.”

Within moments of her alighting from the gig, he had urged the horse into a trot, and she could do nothing but watch him disappear down the driveway. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she refused to cry. He was a stubborn brute, and she was better off without such a man in her life. She really was.

She made it all the way to her room before her heart told her she was a dreadful liar and she burst into tears.

Gideon Bramwell might be a stubborn brute, but her idiotic heart had determined he was the one it wanted because it was a glutton for punishment, clearly. He was also scared to death of ending like his mother; he was afraid to let anyone close, especially her, because he liked her. But knowing that did not help her if she could not break down the walls around him.

“Stupid, stupid, pig-headed lout,” she sobbed, and determined she would find a way to reach him, one way or another.

Chapter 13

Blood and Water

The Mermaid, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816

Damian answered the knock on his hotel room door and could not hide his surprise at seeing Gideon standing on the threshold. Unless it was to berate him for some dreadful story in the scandal sheets, he could not remember the last time his little brother had sought him out.

“Deon,” he said, trying to rearrange his face into something less startled. He had spent many years learning how to disguise his emotions, but Gideon undermined his well-earned insouciance with too much ease.

“Do you want a drink?”

Damian blinked. “Certainly. Do you want to come in?”

“No. Get your coat.”

Damian tugged down his shirt sleeves and checked the looking glass to ensure his cravat was fit to be seen in public. It was only Little Valentine, not London, but he’d been surprised by how many of the upper ten thousand were here. Only the respectable ones from what he’d seen so far, more’s the pity, but one lived in hope.