Chapter 29
As the sleek black stallion galloped wildly down the driveway, frothing at the mouth, Henry strode forward with fury in his heart. He could not abide the mistreatment of animals, least of all those as intelligent and noble as horses.
“Ho, I said!” Gibbs screamed at the horse, yanking hard on the reins. “Ho!”
The stallion slowed, his eyes wild as he tossed his proud head.
Henry approached, holding out his hand to the horse. “You cannot ride like that,” he said coldly to Gibbs, who was making a mess of getting down from the saddle. “You will tear his poor mouth to shreds, and he will not hesitate to throw and trample you.”
“I have been sold a worthless nag!” Gibbs snapped, dusting himself off. “I have never ridden such an undisciplined beast in all my life!”
Henry glowered at the man. “You were hurting him, and you ride poorly.” He moved closer to the stallion and bristled with fresh anger as he saw the milky-colored sweat covering the beast’s body. “He will remain with me. Consider it some recompense for all the money I have given to you.”
The older man froze, his expression that of a man who had just been struck in the face. “I beg your pardon?”
“The stallion remains with me,” Henry snarled. “You are not fit to ride him.”
Gibbs began to huff and puff, puce with rage. “You think you can take my horse? You speak of recompense, when you have given me nothing for at least a year? Your wife is your recompense! I owe you nothing!”
“And I have asked for nothing until now,” Henry fired back.
“Well, I am asking—nay, demanding—the reinstatement of my monthly payments! It is the least you can do, after the worry you put me through,” Gibbs barked.
“You were supposed to keep my daughter safe. She almost died in your care. Perhaps, I shall take her back if you do not pay what I ask! What do you say to that?”
A cold sort of wrath moved slowly through Henry’s veins as he stalked toward his father-in-law, an eerie calm that he had only experienced a few times in his life. And as he towered over the weaselly Gibbs, there was a deep satisfaction in watching fear flicker in the older man’s eyes.
“You make no demands of me, Gibbs,” Henry said, menacingly quiet.
“My wife nearly died four years ago because of you. My wife was nearly harmed because you could not control your vices. If you even attempted to remove her from this manor,” he leaned in closer, “I would break your arms like twigs and let this stallion trample you. A terrible accident.”
A sharp intake of breath rasped from Gibbs’ thin lips.
“You get nothing,” Henry continued. “If you have buried yourself in debt again, there will be no one to save you. Not me, not my wife. If I hear you have asked her for money, I will find you at Farhampton, and you will not like my response.”
Gibbs quaked and, for a moment, Henry thought the man might faint.
“Dorothy will be taken care of. Kenneth too, within reason. But you—never you. You are never welcome here again,” Henry added, tempted to give his father-in-law a slight push to see if he would topple entirely.
Instead, he stepped back.
For what seemed like an eternity, Gibbs did not move; he stood there shaking, growing redder and redder by the second. An effervescent outrage that would undoubtedly explode.
“I have never… been so… insulted in all my life,” Gibbs choked at last. “Do not worry; I would never want to set foot in that… manor again. Send my children out to me. I am leaving in five minutes, whether they are… in the carriage or not.”
Henry gave the man a hard stare. “I told you, you do not make demands of me. Ask me nicely, or fetch them yourself.”
It appeared that Gibbs had lost the ability to speak, erupting in a series of splutters and garbled nonsense. With clenched fists and a vein throbbing in his temple, the older man turned and stomped toward the manor.
Taking the stallion gently by the reins, Henry followed, passing the exhausted beast into the care of a startled stable boy who evidently had not wanted to intrude on the argument.
“This tyrant has commandeered my horse!” Thalia’s father spluttered as he burst into the drawing room. “I am leaving, and if you are not in the carriage when it departs, you shall have to walk!”
Alarmed, Thalia drew apart from her siblings. “What has happened?”
“That is none of your concern!” her father snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Your husband is a… a… terrible man! Why I ever allowed you to marry him is beyond me.”
Kenneth rose to his feet. “Because you had brought us to the brink of ruination with your gambling, your speculations, your ridiculous parties and purchases, and he offered to save us all.”
“What?” Gibbs spat. “How… how dare you!”
“How dare I tell the truth?” Kenneth rolled his eyes and extended a hand to Dorothy. “Come on, dear sister, before our father finally pops that vein in his forehead.”
Thalia hurried forward to hug them both, confused by the situation. Clearly, some words had been exchanged between her father and Henry, and not of the good kind.
“We will see you soon,” Kenneth promised. “Neither of us will be too ashamed or afraid to come here again.”
Dorothy nodded eagerly. “Even if I must walk, I will visit you as soon as I can.”
The siblings embraced one last time, before Kenneth ushered Dorothy out of the room. A moment later, with a huff of indignation and a sharp look that Thalia did not understand, her father walked out too.
Heartbroken by the sudden departure, Thalia hesitated for a second, before darting out and racing to the open front door. There, she stood with her hand on her heart, her other hand raised in a wave of farewell.
Please come back to see me. Please.
She stood there until the carriage had disappeared through the gates, her gaze searching the lawns and grounds for any sign of Henry. He must have been out there somewhere, but she could not see him.
Just then, a light caress against the nape of her neck brought a gasp to her lips.
“I apologize for being rude to your father,” Henry said in a low, rumbling voice that sent a delicious shiver from the point where he caressed her to the base of her spine. “I lost my temper.”
Slowly, her cheeks warm, she turned to face him. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing that was not earned,” he replied, as he lifted his hand to her face, his thumb brushing the apple of her cheek. “You are blushing. You must not be too angry with me, then.”
She blinked, stunned by his audacity.
The sly smile that played upon his lips was his undoing. If he thought he could tease her without consequence, he had another thing coming.
Walter, I hope you are right about this.
“Oh, I am annoyed enough,” she said, as she ran a hand up his hard chest and took hold of his cravat. “I am very annoyed indeed, Henners.”
She tugged his cravat to the side and reached up to ruffle his hair, breathless with her own boldness. It was probably beneath her, but she found she did not care; rather, she found it quite fun.
Pleased with herself, she waited for the infuriation she had been promised… but it did not come. Instead, Henry stepped closer, slipped his arm around her waist to pull her to him, and said with a smile, “There you are. There is my wife.”
Before she could figure out what that meant, his mouth caught hers in a slow, searing kiss that swept all other thoughts from her mind.
His lips were soft, the pull of his arms like a tug on her very heart. With her hands resting on his chest, she kissed him back; there was no hesitation, no protest, no thought that this might not be wise. She wanted to kiss him, as she had wanted to for some time, and so she did.
And it was everything she had imagined, tender yet fierce, slow yet powerful; a page torn from one of the books she adored and brought to life, like a dream.
She lost herself in that kiss, her palms sliding up his broad chest and over his shoulders, until her arms looped around his neck. Her fingertips explored the wavy curls at the nape of his neck, while she relished in the sensation of being so tightly held, safer than she had ever been.
My mother’s wish…
She clung onto the possibility as she kissed him harder, carried away by the swell of feeling in her heart. Every press of his lips was fuel upon the small blaze of her hopes.
Or greater heartbreak…
Breathless, she pushed against his chest, stumbling out of his embrace as he released her instantly.
“Stop this,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “This is unfair.”
“What is?” He reached for her, but she stepped further back, her hand raised.
“Stop giving me hope when you are just going to leave again,” she said, as her breath returned in harsh pants. “If you cannot tell me, here and now, that you will stay when all of this is over, then… keep your distance from me.”
She waited, feeling as if she were holding her heart out to him. She waited… and she waited, the seconds stretching like hours, willing him to tell her that he would never be parted from her again. Willing her story to end the way her beloved books did.
He looked back at her, his face blank. And she could not wait anymore.
“As I thought,” she murmured, her hand to her chest. “Very well, then it is done: stay away from me, Henry. Just… stay away from me.”
Determined not to cry in front of him, she whirled around and, with all the dignity she had left, she walked out of the manor. The boathouse was the only safe haven for her now.