Chapter Eighteen
With a jolt to her shoulder and a sense of raucous anger, Minny smashed the hammer down onto the anvil.
Crash!
The noise echoed around the forge, but she barely heard it. How many years had she spent in this forge as a child, hearing the hammers rebounding off the anvil, off metal—if her father grew truly frustrated, off the walls?
It was as melodious to her ears as music would be to another.
Besides, it was an excellent way to relieve the tension in her bones and the anger searing through her skull.
Lifting the hammer high over her head, Minny brought it onto the anvil with all her might again and again and again.
Each time, an image appeared in her mind. Moments in her life she could have said something, done something, changed the dramatic way her life had been overturned by a handsome face and winning words…
“You scoundrel. You miser. You cruel harpy—you villain!”
And she loved him. Oh, she could not deny it, not even to herself, worse luck. Though she had been suspicious at first—rightly so, as it turned out—it had been impossible to ignore the charm of his smile, the way his hands…
Minny gritted her teeth and brought the hammer down once more.
Truly, this was a wonderful way to release one’s anger. At least, Minny thought it was being released. Each time the hammer came down, however, the anger within her merely boiled, fuel added to the fire, the heat of her rage coming to a boiling point.
It was so—so unfair!
“You should have said no, Minny Banfield,” Minny murmured, the chiming of the hammer on the anvil invading her thoughts but not enough to blot out Henry Everleigh’s face.
“No” when he asked to come inside the forge in the first place. “No” when he wanted to learn from her. “No” when he wished to try out the anvil himself. “No” to kisses by the furnace. “No” to…well. All of it.
Minny swallowed. The furnace was not lit, she could not bring herself to actually work today, but was all this rage erupting in ways she could not have predicted? Was it her own bitterness warming the place?
With a heavy sigh, Minny laid aside the hammer. Sparks had flown the last few hits, and as she examined the delicate tool, she could see she had damaged the end.
“The trouble is,” she said darkly in the gloomy forge, “is that despite that, despite all the regret, all the pain, all the harm…you miss him.”
“Ahem.”
Minny whirled round. There was a shadow standing in the doorway, a hand to their mouth as they loudly cleared her throat.
Shame rushed through her. Of course, the one time she permitted herself to talk aloud about this ridiculous business, there was someone there to overhear her!
That was it; from now on, unless she was specifically expecting a customer, she was going to keep the forge door locked.
It was hard enough to concentrate on smithing when someone wandered in wanting a casual conversation.
It was worse still when she wanted to berate herself about falling in love with a brigand, only to have that chastisement overheard!
“Yes?” she snapped.
Her fingers crept to the anvil and picked up the hammer.
Well. One never knew, even in Pathstow. Absolutely anyone could just wander into the place and decide that it was appropriate for them to help themselves to people’s doorways.
Just like, Minny thought bitterly, Mr. Henry Everleigh.
No, wait, he was a duke, apparently. His highness? His Grace?
“Wood delivery,” said the voice.
Minny narrowed her eyes. She was a suspicious soul at heart; her father had always said that—but there was cause to be in this situation.
She was no fool. No matter how much he attempted to hide that voice…
“Henry Everleigh, go away,” Minny said wearily, putting the hammer onto the anvil and turning away.
She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
Heartbreak had never been something she thought she would suffer. After seeing her brother go through such torment—admittedly, of a different flavor—she had not precisely sworn off men or matrimony. She had thought it would take a great deal for her to be tempted into such foolish longings.
And after only days since she last saw him, Henry was not someone she wished to see.
“Look,” Henry’s voice behind her said desperately. “I am sure you do not want—”
“You are correct,” Minny said to the wall.
“And you are perfectly within your right to—”
“I know,” she snapped, turning to glare, wishing to goodness the man did not look so handsome in the fashionable and well-cut jacket he was wearing. His hands were up in surrender. “This is my forge, mine, Henry—Your Worshipfulness, whatever you are, and—”
“That is not up for debate,” Henry said, taking another step toward the anvil.
It was instinct that made her do it, and Minny was not particularly proud. Her hand raised, picking up the hammer.
“Stay back,” she intoned quietly.
Perhaps it was the softness of her voice that told him just how seriously to take her remark. That, or there was something in her eyes expressing how little patience she had.
Minny hardly knew. She felt as though her hair was standing on end, crackling with the electrifying power of her rage.
How dare he!
Stride back here into Pathstow as though nothing happened—look at her like that, as though she should be grateful he has returned!
As though she was pining for him!
Dreaming about him once—fine, a few times—did not count, Minny told herself severely. That was natural, once one had given a man…everything.
She swallowed. She was not going to lose her head. She was not going to give into the temptation to lose her temper and wallop the man, just once, to show him how much he’d injured her.
Minny slowed her breathing, allowed the hackles on the back of her neck to calm, and looked back at Henry.
The idiot still had his hands up. “I just wanted to say—”
“There is nothing you can say to excuse what you have already said,” Minny cut across him.
The pain in her heart suggested otherwise. Traitorous thing!
She knew she wanted to be convinced. She wanted to forget the argument, the misunderstanding, whatever it was. Leave it behind, to a past that no longer existed.
Wanted to be swept into Henry’s arms and kissed…
“Minny, you have to listen to—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Minny said brightly, forcing a smile. “And you would be very much mistaken if you think I wish to hear any such speeches from your mouth, Henry Everleigh.”
This would have been a remarkably impressive statement, she thought darkly, if her gaze had not then slipped to the man’s mouth.
Oh, there was a mouth that knew precisely what it wanted—how to give and receive pleasure.
Why, it was here on this very anvil they had…
Minny swallowed and hoped to goodness her cheeks had not been disloyal as the thoughts rushing through her mind. She was not about to be seduced. Again.
There had been a moment, just a moment, when everything could have been right. When striking then, while everything between them was hot and molten and malleable, could have been made into something truly special.
But that moment was gone, wasn’t it?
Henry swallowed. Minny tried not to watch the movement of his throat. “I just…let me say my piece, Minny—”
“Miss Banfield.”
“—Miss Banfield,” he corrected hastily, hands still raised in the air. “Then I will leave you alone. Forever.”
Minny hesitated. The idea of never seeing Henry again, of him never appearing at the back door with ax in hand, his smile as they talked, his laughter at her stew when it had burnt most inexplicably at the bottom…
It hurt. It hurt far more than she had expected.
Bother it all!
But she could not allow herself to dream on in ridiculous hope. Hoping that one day he would return to the forge. No, she needed an end to this. A complete break, that was what was needed.
Sometimes iron could not be mended.
“Fine,” Minny said, trying to keep bitterness from her voice. She would not let him see how greatly he had injured her. “Speak.”
Evidently Henry had not actually believed she would acquiesce. His hands fell to his sides as his eyes widened. “Ah. Ahem. Right.”
Minny rolled her eyes. What a pity her heart was so easily swayed.
“Minny, I—Miss Banfield, I mean,” Henry added, seeing her flare of irritation. “I just…I was wrong.”
Silence followed, during which Minny waited. Surely the man could not imagine those three words were sufficient for assuming the very worst of her!
After what felt like a full minute, it became clear Henry was not going to say anymore.
Despite her better judgment, Minny prodded. “Wrong?”
Henry’s shoulders slumped. “So wrong, I do not even know where to start! Oh, Minny, I have never before doubted myself, never before been given any occasion to second guess my opinions or decisions—”
“Lucky you,” Minny muttered under her breath.
He grinned awkwardly. “Quite.”
Perhaps if he were not so handsome, Minny could not help but think, she would find it easier to throw the brute out.
As it was, he looked remarkably fine. The cut of his sleeves gave full accentuation to the muscles he had grown under her care.
Muscles that had lifted her bodily onto the—concentrate, Minny!
“Being a duke, one never expects to be…well, challenged, to tell the truth,” Henry was saying morosely. “One is always right. Servants obey, men fawn, even gentlemen—”
“Sorry, am I meant to be impressed by this, or feel sorry for you?”
He grinned. “I don’t know. I suppose I want to explain that being wrong was not something I was raised to be. I was born and bred to be someone in the right, the idea of getting something wrong…no, never.”
Minny swallowed. She could see how that could be a problem. “Until you came here.”
“Well, as it turns out, no,” Henry said with a frankness she had not expected. “No, the very reason that I came here in the first place, believe it or not, was a great misapprehension.”
Now that did not make sense. Minny tried to recall precisely what Henry had said.