Page 28 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 18

Hal smote his fists on his desk, making the inkwells jump. This was the third time he’d attempted to check Lynch’s figures—and the third time he’d come up with a different total. Very well, if he wasn’t in the right state of mind for figures, he’d write the long overdue letter to his aunt, Dorothea. They’d barely exchanged a word since Mary’s death, but he knew Dorothea adored children and would love to know how Polly was getting on.

Reaching for a quill, he discovered it was blunt and started whittling it irritably with a pocketknife. His first attempt was a failure and all he achieved was blots. His second attempt was even worse, so he gave up in disgust and marched across to the window.

Flinging it open, he gazed out at yet another beautiful day, the first of July, the weather sultry and hot, the air filled with the lazy buzzing of bees and the distant cooing of doves. He wondered if Polly and Galatea would be outside enjoying themselves.

Galatea. Tia. His stomach tightened as he tried to thrust away the unwelcome memories of yesterday evening. What in heaven had he been thinking? He had no right to kiss her, to maul her in such a debauched way. Deuce take it, he’d never treated any woman in so ungentlemanly a fashion. Had he become a barbarian since his retreat from Society?

He chewed on an inky forefinger but barely noticed the bitter taste. Why was he letting himself care what Tia thought of him? By now, he should be indifferent to the opinions of others.

It wasn’t as if he’d set out to make an impression on the woman. Quite the opposite in fact, but now he found he couldn’t bear to have her thinking badly of him. Any normal fellow would find ways of making amends, but he’d removed himself so far from normality, he had no idea how to proceed.

Cursing himself for his cowardice, he’d deliberately avoided going down for breakfast this morning, knowing how uncomfortable the atmosphere would be. He would surely have betrayed himself with a look, a gesture, or the tone of his voice. Until he’d plotted out how to gain Tia’s forgiveness, it was best to avoid her.

Turning away from the window, he stared up at Mary’s portrait. These last three years, he’d continued to converse with her shade, asking it, too, for forgiveness. Now, there was no vestige of her left, except what he could see in the face and demeanor of Polly. Did his self-sacrifice, his punishing regimen, the monument he was building to Mary’s memory, serve anyone but himself?

And was he really doing the right thing for Polly by hardening her heart?

The blue-gray eyes in the painting stared back at him, bright and lively, as Mary had been in life. He waited for the familiar pang of distress, and when it didn’t come fast enough, forced himself to remember her as he’d last seen her, lying bleeding and broken at the foot of the folly tower. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself of the huge wash of guilt he’d experienced as he made that last, most painful farewell.

A soft tap on the door roused him from his reverie. His breath caught when he opened it to find Tia standing in the passageway, twisting her hands together in agitation. Steeling himself to show nothing but regret, he stood aside and ushered her in.

She walked across to his desk and pressed her palms flat on the top. Closing the door, he stood with his back against it and waited for her to speak. It wouldn’t do, venturing too close, not knowing how far he could trust his self-control.

“You didn’t come down to breakfast.” She kept her face averted as she spoke.

“No. You must know why.”

“You didn’t wish to see me. You didn’t want to remember what happened last night.” Was there a wobble in her voice?

“You’re wrong there, Tia. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what I did last night. I can’t forgive myself for behaving like a callow youth.”

She spun to face him, a charmingly rosy flush staining her cheeks. “Callow youth?”

“Precisely. No matter how much I might have wished to touch you, that was not the way to go about it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So how should you have gone about it, Hal?”

Was she teasing him? “Can’t we let the subject drop? I asked for your forgiveness last night, and I beg for it even more humbly now. You have my permission to avoid me if you wish. I won’t blame you for it. If you want to slap my face, or stamp on my toe, perhaps empty a jug of water on top of me, please do so. I fully deserve whatever punishment you can derive.”

She raised an eyebrow at this. “I never thought to hear such humility from you. Believe me, I don’t expect you to do penance for a misguided action. However, I am thinking of blackmailing you with your indiscretion.”

He hadn’t expected that. His mouth twitched. “Out with it. What must I do?” He banished the grin. Ashamed he might be, but she mustn’t think him soft.

“I want you to let me take Polly to the fair. Mama doesn’t wish to go—she has an invitation with Mrs. Brooks she’d like to honor.”

“You don’t want to go to the Brooks’ too?” Secretly, he was pleased she hadn’t made mixing with the local gentry her priority.

“No. Polly has behaved herself impeccably, and as I mentioned before, has earned her reward. You’d be proud of her. Please say we can go. I’ll see she comes to no harm.”

“If your mama’s not going, who’ll chaperone you?”

The blush on her cheeks spread farther, heating her neck and—he was ashamed to notice—her breast. He grazed his fist against the stone of the door frame, needing the distraction of pain.

“I wondered if perhaps you would accompany us. The fair is on the twenty-second of this month.”

“Me?” He was flabbergasted. She wanted his company? Impossible.