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Chapter Twenty-Five
“Antony,” Hermione said softly.
“No more,” Antony urged. He couldn’t bear to keep up this façade any longer. He pushed away from her, rising up on the bed, watching as she looked up to him with wide eyes. “Did you think you could lie to me for the rest of our lives?”
“Lie? What? No!” Hermione began to scramble on the bed, coming toward him.
He couldn’t bear it. When she came near, he capitulated to her touch. He’d only gone so far with her to torment her on this occasion, the way that she had tormented him. He had very nearly gone further, unable to stay away from her.
“No more lies, Hermione.” He snapped the words and grabbed the shirt that had been flattened beneath her. He threw the shirt over his head, as she pulled up her night-rail, hurrying to put it back on. “I cannot believe it. I didn’t want to believe it, but then suddenly everything made sense.”
“Antony, you’re not making any sense.” Hermione looked in pain as she reached out toward him. He stepped away, moving far out of her reach.
“Then let me explain myself,” he said, feeling the cruel expression take up a place in his face. He turned and walked to the far end of the room to a desk by the window where he had discarded the paper that he had found the day before. He snapped it up, walked back toward her and threw it at her. She grabbed it from the air.
As her eyes danced across the words, she turned pale and sat back down on the bed. She was reading her own guidelines on how to trap a man into marriage with her hands trembling.
“Well, props to you, Hermione,” he said drily. “You had me completely. What a fool I am. Do you know I actually believed you? I actually believed you were the first woman I have ever met who wasn’t interested in the fact that I am a Duke. I foolishly thought you didn’t care about the money. How could I actually believe that you liked me instead?”
“I do like you. I lo–”
“You want to insult my intelligence now?” he asked, gesturing down to the notes as she flinched at the loudness of his words, cutting her off. He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry. Not even when Dianne had left him. It was different this time. Somehow, even more gut-wrenching than before. “It’s there in black and white, written down, exactly what you did.”
“Antony, please listen to me.” She dropped the notes to the bed and clambered off the bed, hurrying toward him. He had to back away, further and further across the room. “There’s so much you should know. I tried to tell you before, but I didn’t try hard enough–”
“I cannot listen to this anymore,” he said loudly, shaking his head. “You conned me. Deceived me. Tricked me into marrying you. How could you do that?” he asked. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He wanted to see the expression of the woman he had fallen for. To see the real woman beneath the persona that she wore.
“I didn’t–”
“How can you even say that!?” The words echoed back off the wall at the two of them. Hermione covered her face with her hands, hiding the expression that Antony had been waiting to see. “You think I can ever accept what you have done? Ever forgive you for it?”
“Please, just let me explain. Let me tell you what happened,” she pleaded, looking up from her hands. There were tears in her eyes. The green color was beginning to glisten. Any other time he would feel an ache in his chest to see her cry, but things had changed now.
“I do not need to hear anymore,” he said, striding toward her, feeling the anger so strongly in his body that every muscle was taut. She backed up increasingly, until her legs hit the bed, and she fell back down on it. “If your little guidelines weren’t enough, I heard you speaking with your aunt.”
Her lips parted this time as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “Do you hate me?” she asked.
The words wrong-footed Antony completely. He had expected her to plead with him to listen to her again; he had not expected that question.
“What do you think?” he asked in reply. He couldn’t hate the Hermione he had fallen for. He loved that woman. “The woman I… cared for doesn’t exist, does she?” He backed away from her, heading toward the door.
“Wait, Antony, please.” She scrambled off the bed, hurrying after him.
“No more, Hemione.” He snapped up his other clothes, the waistcoat, the jacket, the shoes, everything, and hurried toward the door.
“Let me explain; I beg of you!”
“No!” His shout was so loud that she stepped back away from him, the tears coming stronger now. He had to look away from those tears. The longer he looked at them, the more he wanted to enfold her in his arms.
“This from now on is a marriage in name only.” He kept his voice calm as he stipulated the new rules. “We will be nothing more to each other than that, understand? There is no connection, no real understanding, and you will never come to visit me in my chamber again.”
Her cries turned harder as she covered her face with both hands again. He couldn’t stay there any longer. He turned with his clothes in his hands and walked out of the room, being certain to slam the door closed behind him.
* * *
Hermione had been crying for so long that her face was red and puffy. Over breakfast, Antony was absent, leaving Hermione to stare at her plate and fight off more tears.
“Will you tell me what is wrong?” Phoebe whispered at her side. There was lively conversation around the table, between Officer Stenham, Rufus, Cordelia and the Dowager Duchess. Their conversation fortunately masked Phoebe’s words.
