What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,82
caressed her hand with his thumb.
“Did I hurt you so badly that you shrink from my touch?”
How she’d longed to hear his voice again!
“I never meant for any of it to happen,” she said.
“I know, lass. I curse the day I let my anger rule my heart—and I doubly curse the day my pride drove me to Scotland—away from you. But now I’ve found you, I have no wish to let you go again.”
“How did you know where I was?” she asked.
“Mrs. Pelham told me where to find you,” he said. “I happened across her not long after I returned to London.”
“You’re in town?”
“I was,” he said, smiling, “but I’m now here, in the presence of a goddess. I also find myself in a much-improved position financially, thanks to an anonymous investment.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but his grip, though gentle, was not to be denied.
“I hope one day to meet my investor,” he said, “to admonish them for their lack of sense.”
His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Fifteen percent is a poor yield given the risk the investment posed. Perhaps I should sell Clayton House and pay the capital early to preserve the investor’s reputation. They must be the laughingstock of London.”
“No!” she said. “You can’t do that. Not when you went to such lengths to restore it.”
“I’m prepared to reconsider if the investor agrees to my terms.”
“Your terms?”
“A trifle, really.” He smiled and looked round the garden, seemingly fascinated by the surrounding trees. The silence stretched, filling the air until she could no longer bear it.
“Might I know your terms?” she asked.
“If you wish,” he said. “Though I’m perplexed as to your level of interest. My terms are that I wish to know the name of my investor, so I might thank them personally. I cannot continue to accept the generosity of a stranger.”
Mischief shone in his eyes.
He was teasing her!
“Perhaps your investor has a good reason for anonymity,” she said.
“Anonymity can lead to disaster.”
She cast her gaze down in shame at the memory of what her anonymity had done to him. He caught her chin with his hand and gently tipped her face up until their eyes met.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to distress you. But if you’d favor me with an answer. Was it you?”
She nodded.
He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. When he opened them again, the pupils were dilated until they were almost black.
“Why did ye do it, lass?”
“I had to make reparation after what I’d done.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. The fault lies with the blackguard who incited the riot. And with me, for thinking you could have done such a thing.”
“I should have been honest with you from the start,” she said. “I’d hated the Molineuxs for so long, and I wanted to hate you so badly. But, infuriating man that you are, you made it impossible for me to do anything but love you.”
“You loved me?”
“I tried not to. I wanted to make a difference to the world, but I lost sight of the impact my actions had on others. My own selfish desire to have my words read by the world led to your ruination.”
“No!” he said. “My ruination was inevitable. I’d overburdened my business with debt, on the strength of too optimistic an outlook, and I lost sight of the need to set aside enough to weather the storm. That the storm came was nobody’s fault. We cannot prevent bad weather. We can only prepare ourselves to survive the consequences.”
He held her hand against his heart. “It wasn’t I who suffered ruination and disgrace.”
She lowered her gaze to her swollen belly. Did he, like the rest of society, see her as nothing more than a sullied woman, despite the part he’d played?
She snatched her hand away, and this time, he released his grip.
“I didn’t lend you the money, seeking gratitude,” she said coldly. “A fifteen percent return will pay handsomely for my keep. After all, my needs are small.”
He made no attempt to take her hand. Instead, he knelt before her.
“What are you doing down there?” she asked. “You’ll get your knees wet.”
“Infuriating woman!” he laughed. “Aren’t suitors supposed to kneel before their intended before they bare their souls? Didn’t that Tipton fellow do the same?”
She gritted her teeth at the mention of Sir Thomas. The pain and humiliation of their last interview still lingered—his angry words on discovering her dowry was not his for the taking, the insults for