Chapter 17
The coach rolled to a halt and Harry jolted. Everything had changed in a few moments. She had changed. She was different now than she had been before. And it was both wonderful and frightening.
It was a heady mix of emotions.
Quickly, she slipped off his lap and tugged her skirts into place.
He, too, rapidly put himself to rights and then he looked at her.
Instead of affection, she saw horror on his beautifully handsome face.
That one look shook her to her core.
For it was very clear that they had had very different reactions to their experience.
She? She’d felt transported and closer to him than she ever had to anyone in her life. He?
He looked like a condemned man.
She swallowed, horror stricken now herself as the reality of all this tumbled down on her.
“I—” The muscles of his throat worked as he clearly struggled for words.
“I won’t make you marry me, if that’s what you fear,” she said quickly, hating that it was the first thing she said after having been so close to him.
He winced, pain darkening his gaze. “Harry—”
“No.” She shook her head, her curls spilling about her face. “I can see that you are afraid.”
“I am afraid,” he confessed, his voice rough. “But not for the reasons you might think.”
“Oh?” she asked, wary.
“Harry, I’m not a good man.” He swallowed. “Not the way you think. I’ve just proved it. And. . . no doubt, I will keep proving it. But I will marry you. Even so, I will never be able to give you what you almost certainly wish.”
She closed her eyes, hating the resignation in his voice. Hating how something so beautiful could so quickly become ugly. “I don’t—”
“You don’t wish to marry me now, do you?” he asked softly.
“No,” she agreed. “Because I can see how clearly you don’t wish it.”
He grimaced. “It’s not about you, Harry.”
“Oh no?” She let out a dry, uncomfortable laugh. “It certainly feels like it.”
“If things were different, if I was different, I cannot imagine anyone I’d rather marry than you,” he said quietly.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. She was stronger than that. Besides, she refused to regret what had happened. “Then why—”
“Because,” he bit out, “I know what I must do with my life and you will only be hurt if you are in it. Do you wish children, Harriet?”
She stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his wits. “Of course.”
“You love your family and so wish one of your own?” he continued, his face taut with agony.
“Certainly.”
“Well, I must tell you,” he leveled her with a firm stare, “I will never have children.”
She let out another sharp laugh but as she took in his stubborn face, her laugh dimmed. “You’re not in jest.”
He shook his head. “I do not wish children.”
“But. . . but you’re a duke,” she protested. “You must have children.”
“There is no must about it. The Blackstone line will die with me.”
She blinked, trying to take his words in and failing. “I don’t understand—”
“You don’t need to,” he said softly. “I’ve already proven that I am no better than. . .”
“Better than?” she prompted, a feeling of panic and pain sweeping over her as he drifted further and further away from her.
“It doesn’t matter,” he bit out, looking away.
“It does matter. Don’t you understand?” She longed to seize his hand, to kiss it, but he was so distant she dared not do it. “You matter. I matter. What has happened between us matters.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry.”
She tensed, refusing to let him apologize for this. “Don’t you dare. I chose this. This isn’t something you did. We did this. It is you who is making it something less. Not I.”
“You’re right,” he replied, his voice hollow. “I am, indeed, at fault. All the more reason for this to end while you can still save yourself.”
“Save myself?” she echoed, her heart aching for him. “From you?”
“You should go now,” he answered, which was no answer at all. “Before we draw notice.”
“And we mustn’t do that, must we?” she replied tightly, hating the cool note in her voice.
He pounded on the roof. The crunch of gravel filled the air as the footman jumped down and walked around to the door.
She gathered her cloak about her, stunned. There were no tears, no rage, only shock. She’d never imagined that she would have made love to him tonight. And she never would have imagined that it would end like this.
“Harry,” he said abruptly. “I never meant to hurt you.”
She arched a pale brow at him. “I’m not certain it’s me you’ve hurt the most. . . Your Grace.”
His face paled at her dismissal. As soon as the door opened, she swept down to the pavement then marched up to her family home, uncertain how she was going to let him go, but knowing that she must.
Before the coach could roll away, Rob leaned forward, transfixed by her proud and bold departure as she strode, head held high, up the steps. And as he peered through the open door, his gaze drifted to the windows and he saw a face.
A face as familiar as his own and in that moment, as Harley’s eyes flashed with rage, Rob knew any hope he had of protecting Harriet from him was done. . . unless he let Harley kill him, of course. And perhaps, really, in the end that was the best option.
Suddenly, the coach cracked forward. Instead of home, he called, “Take me to Fleet Street,” to the driver.
The vehicle shifted subtly heading down to the park and turned east.
He had no doubt as to what was about to happen, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. Now, all he could do was accept his future and do what he could to shield Harriet from the tragedy of being married to him, a man who carried pain and cruelty in his blood.