Page 19 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
After the picnic, they wandered along the far side of the lake, her mother trailing them at a discreet distance. The sun shone on the surface of the lake, turning it almost into a looking glass. She could smell the sweet scent of lilac and saw honeysuckle and forget-me-nots blooming with abandon in the near distance.
The Duke reached down, picking a small scarlet pimpernel, handing it to her with a smile. “I realise they are considered weeds,” he said drily. “But I have always found them charming.”
Hetty took the flower, twisting it between her fingers. “I like the scarlet pimpernel, too,” she said slowly. “Just because they bloom easily, should not make them any less admired.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”
They kept walking in silence for a moment before he turned to her abruptly.
“How did you meet your estranged husband?” he asked quickly.
She smothered her surprise that he had asked her anything about her relationship with Frank. Up until now, he had studiously avoided mentioning her husband, unless it was in a general way, regarding the possible upcoming divorce hearing.
“I met him at a dinner party at a mutual friend’s house,” she said, feeling a lump form in her throat. “I was seated next to him, and we started talking, as you do.” She hesitated. “He seemed charming and was easy going. Not long after, he requested to call on me. And the rest is history.” She felt tears sting behind her eyes.
He stopped, turning to her, a solemn look on his face. “Were you in love with him?”
She blinked rapidly, stunned that he would ask her such a question. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him tartly that it was none of his business. But then, the sorrow of the whole situation overtook her once more, and the desire to speak of it – with someone – was almost overwhelming.
She had no one in whom to confide. Her mother and father only wanted to talk about the possible divorce, but not how she felt about the sudden, shocking end of her short-lived marriage. She couldn’t see any of her friends, who she might confide in, and weep on their shoulder, like Annabelle. She had made the decision as soon as she had returned to Hillsworth House that she would lay low and not socialise, to protect herself. The thought of having to talk about itwith anyone but her close friends was simply too much, and she would have to see others if she went out, even if it was only her friends’ parents.
Annabelle, and her other closest friend, Florence, had sent letters of support to her, which had touched her, and she greatly appreciated. She would see them again, one day, but it was still too raw at the moment.
“I greatly admired and respected him,” she replied quietly. “I thought that he would make a fine husband. He was charming and treated me well.” She hesitated. “But to answer your question – no, I was never in love with him.”
He was silent for a moment, digesting this. “Why did you agree to marry him if you never loved him?”
She gasped. “You ask me this question? It is a common enough thing in the society that we live in. Hardly any of the marriages that I know are love matches. Mostly it is arranged by parents, or others …”
“Yes, I am well aware of that,” he said, smiling slightly. “My own mother tried very hard to arrange a marriage for me when I was younger. And I do not blame people for accepting arranged marriages. Often, they are compelled, and have little choice in the matter.” He hesitated. “But your own engagement was not arranged, nor were you compelled to become engaged to the gentleman. That is the only reason that I ask. I am just curious that if you could have waited for a love match, why you did not.”
She shrugged, feeling like she wanted to burst into tears. “I did not expect love, I suppose. I have never been in love … I think I believed that it was just a myth.” She turned her face away, staring over the water as she battled the tears. “You think that I made a mistake in not being in love with him, and he not being in love with me?”
“I am not judging you, Hetty,” he said in a quiet voice. “Not in the least. It just surprises me, that a lady as beautiful, clever, and charming as you are, would not wish for it. You deserve it.” He paused, gazing at her intently. “Do you truly believe that love between a man and a woman is a myth?”
She shrugged again, helplessly. “I do not know. I have never felt it, so to me, it is not real,” she said, her heart beating hard in her chest.
He kept gazing at her, a peculiar yearning expression on his face. Her heart skipped a beat. She could not help it. A single tear trickled down her cheek.
He reached out slowly and wiped it away with his thumb. She shuddered. The touch made her skin tingle, but more than that, his kindness took her breath away. He had told her that she deserved love. He had told her that she was beautiful and charming and clever.
“You did not deserve what happened to you,” he said roughly, his hand dropping to his side, his face grim. “If I knew where the man was, I would run him through, for what he has done to you.”
She couldn’t suppress a sob. Quickly, she looked away.
She knew that he was probably lying. She knew that he was probably just saying these things without really meaning them. But her soul expanded to hear him speak.
The small kernel of doubt – that Frank had deserted her because something was lacking in her – started to dissolve, and it was the man standing beside her that had made it happen.
Chapter 9
Louis strode into Warwick Manor, feeling as weary as he had ever felt in his life. He had just spent two days at Hillsworth House, trying to woo Hetty. But as soon as he felt that he was making some headway – that he was breaking down the barrier between them, that she had erected – she would grow wary and close down, leaving him bereft.
He walked into his study, pouring himself a stiff whisky, thinking about it. Any other man would walk away, give up, admit defeat. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t walk away from her, no matter how much she tried to push him away.
As he sipped his whisky, he contemplated her. She had thawed slightly towards him in the six weeks since he had been visiting Hillsworth House, but it was infinitesimal. It was as if she froze the moment that she realised she was enjoying herself or became lost in the moment. He had seen it on his first visit when they had shared a close moment, when the swing had broken, and it had been happening ever since.
He sighed, downing the drink in one gulp. No, he couldn’t walk away from her. Because the truth of it was, he was more in love with her now than he had ever been.
Spending time with her had only deepened the way that he felt about her. She was not only the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld but clever and witty, as well. They shared interests in many things, even if she almost killed herself trying to stifle her response in theirconversations. She was also tender-hearted.
