He staggered to his feet and poured himself a drink, oblivious to the fact that the hour had not yet slipped from morning to afternoon. His fingers clutched the glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn't break. He downed the drink, and when it did nothing to ease his pain, he drank another.
He pictured her face, his mind drawing the delicately winged eyebrows that hung over those spectacular silver eyes. He could see her hair, could detect each one of the myriad colors that made up that mane which was rather insufficiently called light brown. And then her mouth—it was always in motion, smiling, laughing, pouting.
Kissing.
He could feel her lips under his. They had been soft and full and so eager to respond. His body hardened as he remembered the sheer ecstasy of her touch. She was an innocent, yet she instinctively knew how to bind him to her with passion.
He wanted her.
He wanted her with an intensity that threatened to engulf him.
He couldn't break the engagement yet. He had to see her one last time. He had to touch her and see if he could withstand the torture of it.
Did he love her enough to go through with this marriage, knowing what he did about her?
Did he hate her enough to marry her just to control her and punish her for what she'd made him feel?
Just one more time.
He had to see her just one more time. Then he would know.
Chapter 22
"Lord Stannage is here to see you, Miss Bartlett."
Henry's heart slammed in her chest at the butler's announcement.
"Shall I tell him you're not at home?" the butler asked, noting her hesitation.
"No, no," she replied, nervously wetting her lips. "I'll be right down." Henry set down the letter she'd been penning to Emma. The Duchess of Ashbourne would probably withdraw her friendship from Henry once news of the broken engagement got out. Henry had decided she'd like to send one last piece of correspondence while she still could count Emma among her friends.
This is it, she said to herself, trying to fight the choking feeling in her throat. He hates you now. She knew she'd hurt him, perhaps just as much as he'd hurt her.
She stood, smoothing down the folds of her pale yellow morning dress. It was the one he had bought her back in Truro. She wasn't sure why she'd instructed her maid to take that one out of the closet that morning. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to hold on to a tiny piece of her happiness.
Now she only felt foolish. As if a dress could mend her broken heart.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked out into the hall and carefully shut the door behind her. She had to act normally. It was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever done, but she was going to have to behave as if nothing were wrong. She wasn't supposed to know that Dunford had received a note meant for Rosalind, and he would be suspicious if she acted otherwise.
She reached the top of the staircase, and her foot hovered over the first step. Oh, God, she could feel the pain already. It would be so easy to turn around and flee to her room. The butler could say she was ill. Dunford had believed her to be ill the previous week; a relapse was plausible.
You have to see him, Henry.
Henry swore at her conscience and finally stepped onto the staircase.
Dunford stared out a window in the Blydons' sitting room as he waited for his fiancée to greet him.
Fiancée. What a joke.
If she hadn't told him she loved him... He swallowed convulsively. He might have been able to bear it if she hadn't lied to him.
Was he so naive to want what his friends had? Was he crazy to think a member of the ton could find a love match? Alex's and Belle's successes in that endeavor had made him hopeful. Henry's arrival in his life had made him ecstatic.
And now her betrayal had ravaged him.
He heard her walk into the room but didn't turn around, unable to trust himself until he had a stronger hold on his emotions. He kept his gaze firmly on the window. A nanny was pushing a pram down the street.
He took a ragged breath. He'd wanted her children...
"Dunford?" She sounded oddly hesitant.
"Close the door, Henry." He still didn't turn to face her...
"But Caroline..."
"I said, 'Close the door.'"
Henry opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stepped back to the door and closed it. She took no further steps into the center of the room, leaving herself poised to flee if necessary. She was a coward and she knew it, but just then she didn't much care. She clasped her hands in front of her body and waited for him to turn around. When a full minute passed without a sound or movement from him, she forced herself to say his name again.
He whirled around abruptly, surprising her with a smile on his face.
"Dunford?" She hadn't meant to whisper.
"Henry. My love." He took a step toward her.
Her eyes widened. His smile was the same one she'd always seen, the same curve on his finely molded lips and the same gleam of even, white teeth. But his eyes... oh, they were hard.
She forced herself not to step back and pasted her signature cheeky grin on her face. "What did you need to tell me, Dunford?"
"I need a specific reason to visit my fiancée?"
Surely it was her imagination that heard that slight stress on the word "fiancée."
He began to walk toward her, his long, even paces reminding her of a predatory cat. She took a few steps to the side, which was just as well, for he brushed right past her. Her head whipped up in surprise.
Dunford took two more steps to reach the door, then he turned the key in the lock.
Henry's mouth went dry. "But Dunford...My reputation... it will be in tatters."
"They'll indulge me."
"They?" she said stupidly.