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When he turned to face her, his eyes were disconcertingly level with hers. “You’re wrong. I harbor no ill will toward you for your reaction at the cemetery, but I do hold you responsible for the deliberate deception that followed. You should have told me you were running this place.”
“You would have had me removed in an instant.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because I know what kind of man you are.”
“Oh?” A thin smile crossed his lips. “Do tell.”
She screwed up her courage. “You are the kind of man who gets himself drunk before his brother’s funeral and deliberately disrupts it. The kind of man who blatantly disregards everyone else’s grief and thinks only of his own. The kind of man who assaults his brother’s fiancée and then has the gall to publicly insult and humiliate her before her beloved is even in the ground!” Her blood was up now, and she had no fear. “You are a selfish man.”
His hard, bright eyes pierced her. “Selfish? I offered to help you just now.”
“You offered me an olive branch with a snake in it!” she countered, ignoring the danger and coming closer. “This whole thing has been nothing more than a trick to placate me, to put me at my ease until you can find a way to be rid of me. The only reason you came here today was to find fault with my work here and discredit me. No matter what niceties you utter, you cannot persuade me to believe otherwise.”
He took a step up, bringing them nearly nose to nose. “The only serpent here is you, madam. If we are investigating motives here, then let us examine yours. Your purpose since the moment I set foot in this place has been to shut me up
and get me out of the way. Your way. Well, I am not so easily removed. You can expect to see more of me. A great deal more of me,” he snapped. “Until I am satisfied that things are as they ought to be according to my own good opinion, I shall remain the proverbial thorn in your side.”
Damn. Her temper had gotten the better of her again. She considered apologizing and trying to salvage things, but the look on his face told her it was far too late for that. Better honesty, then. “It appears we are agreed in one thing, Your Grace—our mutual distrust of one another. But whereas mine stems from the repeated experience of bearing your assault on both my person and dignity, yours comes purely from pigheaded prejudice.”
She turned to flee back up the steps, but before she could do so, he caught her wrist and jerked her back around to face him once more.
“I have no problem with strong women, Lady Harriett,” he said, his gravelly voice sending shivers down her spine. His eyes darkened from whiskey to sienna as he leaned in. “In fact, I prefer them that way. But you go beyond the pale. You are controlling, manipulative, and deceitful. I shall be watching you. Make no mistake about that. And the first time you err, I shall be here to bring down the axe.”
Tingles radiated from her imprisoned wrist as she stood there, heart hammering. Every inch of her flesh seemed painfully aware of how close he was. He drifted nearer, and her toes curled in anticipation of…of...
Without warning, he released her and whirled away to resume his progress down the steps.
This time, she stayed where she was and did not pursue him. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to do so even if she had wanted, for her legs trembled like those of a newborn foal. Gripping the rail for support, she listened for the downstairs door to close.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as it slammed. Damn him. And damn her temper! Why couldn’t she have held her tongue? Now she’d made matters even worse.
~ * ~
Roland paused in the foyer. You would have made a fine wife? An incredulous bark of laughter escaped him. What the devil had possessed him to say such a thing to her? And why the hell had he allowed himself to get so close? Even now, the scent of her taunted him. He’d damned well nearly kissed the hellion. Another instant and he would have.
And what would that have been like? He could not help wondering how she might have reacted had he not panicked and fled. She’d been furious. Her entire body had been trembling with rage—or was it for some other reason?
Would she have yielded? Would she have unleashed her passionate nature in an altogether different manner than the expected slap? He thought on that possibility for a long, rather enjoyable moment. Such musings were quickly dismissed, however. No. Definitely not. Of a certainty, she’d have put her palm print on his cheek. Again. They were enemies. There would never be anything between them but hostility. That much had become abundantly clear.
Pity. He’d rather liked being on friendlier terms. But what was done was done. That he had goaded her into declaring war on him didn’t matter. What mattered was that she left the Hospital, because if she did not, it would mean she’d become a fixture in his life for the next three years. Given his base reaction to her, such close proximity would only lead to trouble.
He swept into Wi—no, his office—and snatched up the ledger. If there was any way to oust the virago, he would find it. Tomorrow he would summon Mr. Blume and have the royal charter brought to his residence for examination as well. And her contract, if there even was one. He’d won the battle with his father in the end. He would win the battle against Harriett Dunhaven, too. One way or another.
Stuffing the documents into his leather case, he made a hasty exit. If she should come through the door now and find him still here, he didn’t know what the result would be, but he guessed it wouldn’t be kissing. He needed to get the hell out of here.
Safe in his carriage at last, his rebellious thoughts returned to the incident on the stairs. Yes. She’d been trembling. He’d seen it, felt it as he’d held her arm. But had those hazel eyes contained something other than outrage? Was he just imagining that her lips had parted slightly as she’d stared at him?
He shook his head again, laughing at such fantasies. Bah! She hated him. She’d never forgiven him for wrecking William’s funeral. And she never would. Perhaps it was better that way. Less dangerous, certainly.
According to his watch it was just now noon, but even so, it was time for a drink. High time. Regrettably, he’d left his second best flask at home, not wishing to fall prey to the temptation of having a quick nip before facing her. Now he wished he’d thought to stow it in the carriage.
Sobriety had a nasty way of making him see his own shortcomings. He didn’t much care for self-reflection, which was probably why he so often chose to view the world through the bottom of a glass. He was a coward, plain and simple, and he knew it. He’d been afraid to set foot inside that sick ward. Afraid to see and speak to a woman who rightfully scorned him. Afraid of failing to live up to everyone’s expectations.
If he faced the truth, he was afraid of everything.
Harriett was just the opposite. The woman was made of steel. She’d faced the unpleasant reality of her situation and had wrestled with it until it had bent to her resolve rather than the other way around. He knew she’d suffered since William’s death—just as he himself had—but she’d risen above it.
