Chapter Nine
Henry glared at the paper in his hands, as though if he did so sufficiently, the damned thing would burst into flames. Not just this edition, either. No, all of them—he had to stop anyone from reading this utter filth!
DUKE’S SISTER SLIPS AWAY FROM BALL TO ATTEND GAMING HELL
It is our sorry duty to report that Lady Margaret Everleigh, sister to the Duke of Dulverton—who appears to have no interest in calming his sister’s ways and is absent from Town—was spotted leaving the ill-reputed gaming hell the Old Duke last night.
Despite being chaperoned to Almack’s by the devastatingly beautiful Lady Romeril, Lady Margaret appeared to have slipped her clutches.
After dancing twice with the Earl of Thornfalcone, a suggestion of a potential union between the two great houses, voucher holders were astonished to discover Lady Margaret was, sadly, undiscoverable for the latter portion of the evening.
We can now exclusively reveal the reason for this outrage: because she had escaped to the Old Duke, a gaming hell frequented by the most odious characters.
Two fights are known to have broken out that evening, though the Duke of Ashcott decently refused to confirm whether one was over the Lady Margaret’s honor.
It would seem to this editor that neither could be, because the Lady Margaret has no honor left.
Henry screwed up the newspaper and threw it into the flames. He watched, face livid, as the ends of the paper curled, fire licking the edges.
The bloody fools! What did they think they would achieve, publishing such scandalous lies! Why did they think they could get away with it?
His hands became fists as he sat on the end of his bed in the small room at the King’s Head.
The trouble was, they were getting away with it, weren’t they? Every day that passed when he did not stride up to their damned headquarters and put a bullet through their chest, this editor just kept on publishing.
It was an outrage!
And every day that he stayed here, it was only going to get worse. Why, he had been impressed Lady Romeril had acted as Peggy’s companion—there was no one who could get around Lady Romeril. She was a stalwart of Society, no one would dare to besmirch her name.
Except that they had. Henry could not understand it.
At least now Lady Romeril had been dragged into this mess, he hoped she would try to rein in the nonsense coming from this rag of a newspaper. Perhaps she would succeed where Henry had failed.
He smiled weakly, shaking his head. Not that he had been trying very hard.
Somehow, and he was still not sure how, he had managed to slip into the most awkward habit of…becoming a blacksmith.
If his father could see him now!
“I still think I should have a go with the hammer,” he had said to Minny yesterday.
And she had laughed. “The moment you can hit an anvil without hitting your own thumb, let me know.”
Henry looked ruefully at the cotton wrapped and tied around his left thumb. Well, it wasn’t completely his fault, was it?
If only he had not been intending to show off quite so dramatically. Then he would not have dropped the hammer so quickly, or forgotten to move his thumb…
“Part of me wonders whether you half did it on purpose,” Minny had said as she had bandaged him up.
And Henry had swallowed, trying not to focus on the warm, deft hands that carefully tied the knot in the cotton. And he had wondered, too.
Was it possible that his mind had permitted him to become injured, to give him the perfect excuse to be close to her? To breathe Minny in, wonder what would happen if he once again pulled her into his arms and—
“Henry?”
Henry started, his swift rising almost made him tumble onto the bed.
Minny was standing in the doorway, a smile broadening as she watched him stagger. “Goodness, what’s wrong with you? Faint from all that loss of blood?”
He grinned weakly. “Something like that.”
He certainly felt weak. How long could he continue being this close to Minny without doing something about it?
Doing something about it? Henry swallowed, knowing he was being foolish. He was the Duke of Dulverton! He was on the pursuit of the blaggards ruining his sister’s life!
The absolute last thing he should be thinking of was a pretty face…
“Wh-What?”
Minny giggled. Though Henry desperately hoped she would step inside, she lingered by the doorway—evidently feeling, as he should, that to do so would be most unseemly.
This was his bedchamber. At least, one of the bedchambers at the King’s Head. But still. Henry knew enough about etiquette to know it would be deeply outrageous if she—
Minny stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You’re late.”
It was all he could do to prevent his jaw from dropping to the ground. Late? He had almost expired when she shut that door.
What did she think she was doing? Had their conversation, albeit brief, about her reputation not made any impact? Was she, and here Henry’s stomach lurched, was she offering herself to him?
Because if so, he could not accept swiftly enough—
“I expected you in the forge an hour ago,” Minny said quietly.
Ah. That was the trouble with leaving one’s pocket watch with one’s manservant, Henry thought wretchedly. He hoped Jenks had kept it wound, for he would be in sore need of it when he returned home.
Whenever that was.
“Henry?”
“Yes, I—I am sorry, Minny. Miss Banfield,” Henry said awkwardly.
He had no wish to use her formal name, but he did not have much choice.
They were standing here, in a bedchamber—his bedchamber!—without a chaperone.
Not, he thought darkly, eyes flickering back to the newspaper now almost ashes in the grate, that a chaperone seemed to make much difference to protecting a woman’s reputation.
“Miss Banfield?” Minny’s face was astonished. “Goodness, I thought we were—it was my mistake, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, Minny, I—blast, I don’t know,” Henry said, stepping forward.
He shouldn’t have. Every inch he grew closer, it was impossible to keep control. Her enthralling presence was playing havoc with his restraint, his fingers itching to—
“You don’t know?” she repeated, eyes wide.
Henry forced himself to halt, tightened his fingers into fists, and took a deep breath. He needed to remain calm.
Though he had spent almost every day since arriving at Pathstow in her presence, he had still not noticed any opportunity she may have had to sneak letters out to London.
She’d made deliveries, naturally, but as far as Henry could see, there were no hidden notes wrapped around the horse shoes, or under belt buckles, or within the packet of nails.
But Peg was depending on him, and as much as it made his gut clench to consider it…Minny Banfield may be his enemy.
Henry had to remember a pretty face did not guarantee innocence.
“Henry? Mr. Everleigh?”
Henry blinked. Minny had stepped closer and was waving a hand before his eyes. He had evidently become lost in his thoughts.
“Don’t ever,” he said quietly, warmth suffusing into his voice, “call me Mr. Everleigh again.”
She looked surprised but pleased. “Really?”
Henry nodded. Oh, the things he wanted her to call him… “Henry is fine. What was I saying?”
“You know, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Minny, a small smile creasing her lips.
And that was when Henry’s heart skipped a beat.
Oh, damn.
He hadn’t felt this way since…well, never, Henry thought wildly as he tried and failed to collect himself. Even Miss Ahlberg, the governess who had made him tongue tied whenever he tried to explain a mathematical equation, had not made him feel like this.
So warm he felt steam rising from his forehead, his face surely blotchy. Yet so cold, so alone, so separated from the one person who could make him feel whole again.
Dear God, if the memory of one kiss and his name on her lips could make him feel like this, what was he going to do?
“Well, I was worried, after you did not arrive this morning,” Minny said a shake of her head. “I suppose I should be giving you a day off every Sunday, but—”
“No,” Henry said hurriedly. Spending an entire day away from Minny felt like a punishment somehow.
“Well, that’s good. Good.”
Henry’s traitorous heart skipped a beat again.
He was not here, in the pokey little village of Pathstow, to have his head turned by a blacksmith! Even if this one was comely beyond compare and laughed like the devil when he had knocked over a pair of toasting forks a few days ago.
He had never given his heart to anyone before, and he was not about to do so now. Even if he wished to.
He should leave. Henry was no fool; he’d seen this slippery slope before, seen the way affection could play havoc with a gentleman’s focus.
Why, hadn’t old Braedon gone absolutely round the twist when he started to fixate on that Miss Tilbury?
There were more important things at stake, Henry tried to tell himself, than the potential bedding of a delicious woman. There was his sister to think of, her reputation.
So why was he considering attracting the attentions of a woman blacksmith—one who could quite easily be the culprit of his sister’s disgrace?
By God, but she was beautiful.
“Henry?”
“What?” he said. “What did you say?”
“I said,” said Minny patiently, “are you ready to learn your first blacksmithing?”
Henry’s eyes widened. She laughed as he spluttered, “T-Truly—you think I’m ready?”
And just like that, all his fine feelings were gone. A chance to be with Minny, to see her at work again, see her talent in action—perhaps get close to her…
And best of all, the chance to hit something incredibly hard with a large hammer?
Henry was a man, not an angel. He could not help himself. “That would be wonderful!”
“As ready as you will ever be, and I think I am as ready as I will ever be for you to play near the flames,” Minny said dryly. “Honestly, with a thumb in a bandage like that, we’ll have to be careful you don’t set yourself alight!”
“Let’s go,” he said impetuously. “Come on, we’re wasting time!”
“You were the one who was late!” she protested as she followed him out of his bedchamber.