Page 67 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Bentley stiffened. He looked at her a moment longer before shame flooded his body. Did she harbor an attraction for Warren? Surely she could not love the man, not when they had only spent a few hours in one another’s company. But if she was attracted to him, imagined a life with him…should Bentley tell her now that it was all for naught? That Warren was not interested in a wife?

No, he couldn’t. It would only appear as though he was trying to strengthen his own suit. Dropping his hand from her cheek, he released her waist and stepped back, clearing his throat.

Hattie looked pained. “I realize that you were hurt by your mother’s dishonesty, but if her husband is dying, will you not regret missing the opportunity to speak to him just once?”

“I think I will,” he said. He agreed, and it was a decision he had not made lightly. “I leave tomorrow at first light to see them. I shall return before the dinner party, so you may tell your sister-in-law that I am happy to attend.”

“You mustn’t feel an obligation, Bentley. Not when you have so much to attend to now.”

“I will return,” he said, trying for a light tone when all he wanted was to escape. “You needn’t fear for your painting lessons.”

“I should think those painting lessons are the least important thing at present.”

Bentley felt as though she’d taken the end of her pencil and stabbed him in the heart. “On the contrary,” he said softly. “They are one of the things I look forward to most.”

Hattie regarded him quietly as he busied himself with replacing the blankets they’d used, then stood near the ladder to wait for her. He felt her eyes on him, but he was ashamed he’d lain himself bare for her and had been summarily rejected. Could he call that exchange anything else? If the woman had feelings for him, she would have allowed him to kiss her. His blatant staring at her lips could have meant nothing else, and that was something even she should have picked up on.

They climbed down the ladder quietly and mounted their horses. Agnes closed the barn door and mounted her horse, directing it toward the Green estate. The cold wind whipped around them, softly pushing them toward their homes and away from one another. Before meeting Hattie at the barn Bentley hadn’t entirely decided on when he should leave for Kent, but now he was determined to rid himself of Devonshire as quickly as he was able.

“Goodbye, Hattie,” he said, before turning his horse and urging him into a canter. He wanted a bruising ride and a way to forget his forwardness. Perhaps Hattie’s Cunning Woman had an incantation he could use. He chuckled to himself and urged his horse to go quicker. The sooner he put her behind him, the better.

He wanted her to want him, not settle for him just because his name was Fawkes.

He wanted to be her Bentley, not her fox.

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