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Stopping, he looked down to where her hand rested on his sleeve.
She jerked it back and rubbed it on her apron to dispel the tingling sensation in her fingers. Her breath caught as she realized he’d marked the telltale motion.
“Mr. Blume is no business of yours,” he bit out, his eyes narrowing as they again centered on her face. “He was my brother’s solicitor—which makes him mine—and he lied to me. I will deal with him as I see fit. I believe the magistrate will have a thing or two to say about his deceitful practices. He’ll be lucky if they only send him to prison.”
“He was not William’s solicitor!” she shouted, again heedless of the closed doors lining the hall. All she could think of was how kind Mr. Blume had been to her and how he would be ruined if he was accused of such a crime regardless of whether he was later proven innocent.
Manchester stopped. “I see. Then pray tell me, what is Mr. Blume?”
“He is the Hospital’s solicitor, retained by its governors—including your brother—to attend to its business, and he has done an outstanding job. He is a good man, and he does not deserve to be abused.”
“I meant what is he to you, Lady Harriett.”
She blinked in surprise. “I will not deny he is my friend,” she said, hating that she sounded so awkward. “He has helped me through many hardships these past two years.”
A cynical brow lifted in response. “A friend? Is that all?”
Suddenly, she understood. Her cheeks heated. The unmitigated gall of the man! “He was William’s friend, as well,” she countered, anger winning over embarrassment. “But if you require further explanation, then let me say also that I have had the great pleasure of befriending his lady wife and, indeed, of seeing his youngest child born.” She stood her tallest, which put her at eye-level with his lips. “And the honor of being named her godmother!”
Those lips quirked. “God, you really are a Puritan, aren’t you? Proper and starched, just like William—only far braver.”
How dare he laugh at her after just implying she’d been indecently involved with a married man! “William was the bravest man I have ever known,” she said in her most cutting tone, determined to have the final word, to strike the final blow. “You may share the same blood, but you share nothing of his noble spirit, his kindness, his generosity. You are nothing like him, and you’ll never be half the man he was even if you try for a thousand years! Not that I would ever expect such a thing—that would require you to have a heart.”
Manchester’s mouth thinned, and she knew she’d hit her mark. It felt damned good to know she’d wounded him, even if it was only a superficial injury. He advanced on her, but she held steady.
“You’re absolutely correct,” he said, bending until his face was level with hers. “I’m nothing like Saint William. Which means you can neither influence nor control me the way you did him.” Abruptly, he backed off. “I shall return in the morning. And when I do, I shall expect you to accord me the proper respect due my position. Unless, of course, you’d like me to immediately appoint someone else to serve as Assistant Administrator?”
He wasn’t making her leave? “That won’t be necessary. I am, thankfully, mature enough not to allow my personal feelings to hamper my sense of duty.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
“Until tomorrow,” she replied with a nod. Only after the door closed behind him with a soft click did she release the breath she’d been holding. She launched into motion at once to prevent her knees from giving out and leaving her in a heap on the floor.
Why had he agreed to keep her on? Lord knew how he must hate her. She could only surmise it was to enjoy bedeviling her. Well, if he thought to run her off by means of intimidation, he would soon learn she was made of sterner stuff. It would take a lot more than a drunken bully to make her abandon William’s legacy.
Six
Roland stormed out, slamming the front door behind him with enough force to rattle the brass knocker. George’s piles! That woman was enough to make a man’s teeth itch! Why her? Of all the people in the world, why her?
He rummaged in his pockets for a moment and then cursed. Turning, he looked back up the steps at the door he’d just tried to take off its hinges. He’d left his flask in that bloody place, but damned if he’d go back in after it. It was empty anyway. He stalked to his waiting carriage and slung himself inside, slamming that door behind him, too.
As he rolled away from the awful place, uncomfortable thoughts rolled around in his now aching head. Harriet Dunhaven. Mr. Dun. Her sheer audacity struck him. In a way, he had to admire the bollocks it had taken for her to do such a thing.
The thought soured him further. The last thing he wanted was to admire the enemy. And make no mistake, an enemy is what she is. She despised him utterly. That she’d try to sabotage him was an absolute certainty.
Her problem was that she had no sense of self-perseveration. She hadn’t batted an eyelash even when he’d had her, literally, up against the wall. She’d not been afraid of him the day of William’s funeral, either. Her eyes, how they’d burned with fury—then and now.
He meant what he’d said. William had always been compliant and easygoing. And Harriett was the managing type. No doubt about it; she’d nudged his brother in the direction of her preferences, and he’d gone along with it and let her have her way.
Fists clenched, he made his decision. He would come back tomorrow morning. Early. It would be most satisfying indeed to see the look on her face when she walked in to find him already there. If she had the courage to show up. And God help her if he found as much as a single shilling misspent. For half a moment he debated going back right then, but he quickly let go the idea. There was no way she’d have time to hide evidence or falsify any records by tomorrow morning.
Besides, it would be better to cool his temper and clear his head before wading in. Had he known she would be there, he would never have indulged in spirits before coming. Not because he cared a feathered fig for her opinion of him, but because—he grudgingly admitted it—of her seemingly innate talent for arousing both his temper and his lust.
He hated that she caused such a base reaction in him. Firstly, she was his brother’s fiancée and secondly, she was a complete virago who would like nothing better than to see him fail.
The carriage slowed and Roland realized they were about to make the turn. He rapped on the roof and the driver’s slot opened. “Take me to The Royal,” he told the man. He needed to see Rich. Rich would know how to handle a hellion like Harriett.
Harriett the Hellion. He grinned. That had quite a nice ring to it. She’d been a right mess in her nurse’s frock. And that awful cap! He’d had half a mind to snatch it off her head and dance a jig atop it. No one had vexed him so in years. Two years, to be precise.
