Chapter 13 #2
A small ribbon would do little to staunch the bleeding. We needed to get back to the estate as quickly as possible.
“Ride?” He glanced warily at his horse. “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”
“I didn’t mean on your horse. On mine.”
His brows shot up. “Will we both ride him? At the same time?”
“Normally I’d walk him while you rode, but we must get you back to Stonehill quickly.” Before you faint from blood loss. “Will that be a problem?”
“Of course not.” He sucked in a bracing breath before attempting to pull himself off the ground. I offered what assistance I could, but the truth was that Mr. Hawke was much heavier than I could lift. It was no small miracle that, together, we got him up onto the stallion.
I frowned at the small space on the saddle, and as if reading my mind, Mr. Hawke said, “Ride however is comfortable for you. Seeing you straddle a horse will be the least surprising thing to have happened to me today.”
Was he referring to my slip up? I set my jaw. It was time to set this straight.
“About that,” I said, “what happened in the shed was an accident. I never intended it to happen, and I hope you will…” I swallowed, the words thick in my throat, “...I hope you will forgive me.”
He blinked. “Forgive you? I should be asking you for forgiveness.”
That made me pause. “What?”
He gripped the saddle to keep himself upright.
“When we were at the stable, I purposefully stayed away from you so you wouldn’t feel pressured.
I told myself you needed the space to feel comfortable in my presence after what happened earlier.
But, in truth, I was being a coward. I put you in a terrible position today, and I didn’t have the courage to give you a proper apology. ”
“An… apology? For what?”
He searched my eyes, his brow creased. “I wasn’t thinking straight when the storm hit.
I should have taken you to the house for shelter, but the hail—” His gaze flickered to the bandaged cut on my cheek.
“That’s all beside the point. What matters is that I endangered your reputation by bringing you in there alone with me, and I am deeply sorry for it.
I promise that Grimshaw won’t speak a word of this to anyone. Neither will I.”
A swell of relief washed over me, and I released my grip on my tweed jacket. I had unknowingly been crushing it in my fist. Mr. Hawke had been acting distant earlier because he was worried I was upset with him. I’d had it all wrong all along.
“So you… you aren’t upset with me?” I asked.
His brow creased. “Why would I be upset with you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
A nervous laugh bubbled out of my throat. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I awkwardly brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. “Now, let’s get you back home, Mr. Hawke.”
“Dear heavens,” he sighed, “just call me Edmond already.”
I blinked, unsure I had heard him correctly or if I had imagined it.
He cleared his throat. “That is—I mean—we’ve just gone through quite an ordeal. You’re letting me share your horse—well, my horse—but, all of this has earned us something, hasn’t it?” He paused, seeming uncertain. “If I’m being too forward—”
“You’re not.” I forced myself to calm, but that was difficult considering the electrical storm buzzing beneath my skin. “But I will only call you by your Christian name if you call me by mine.”
“Agreed,” he smiled, “Helena.”
The sound of my name on his lips caused a strange sensation to spread through me. It felt like victory, but better.
I gathered up the reins of his horse, and climbed up onto the stirrup. I paused, contemplating how exactly I’d mount. Mr. Hawke was not a small man, and he took up most of the saddle. I’d have to lift my skirts and swing my leg over.
Mr. Hawke must have read my mind, for he turned his head in the other direction, granting me the privacy I needed to hoist my leg up and over the saddle. I quickly adjusted my skirt and glanced over my shoulder at him.
“You can look now,” I said.
“Right, erm. Are you… comfortable? You can lean back, you know.”
I realized I had been holding myself forward at an awkward angle in an attempt to put a few inches of space between us. But it was an impractical position, and I braced myself as I leaned back into the saddle.
As soon as I did, I was keenly aware of every point of contact between us. My back was pressed into Mr. Hawke’s chest. His good arm cupped me as he held onto his seat, and the firm line of his thighs braced against mine—
I squeezed my eyes shut, reminding myself that he was likely bleeding all over my borrowed riding jacket. There were more important things to focus on here.
“Hold on tight,” I called over my shoulder. I didn’t dare look back at him. I knew if I were to see those fatally green eyes of his staring back at me, he would turn my own ramparts against me, dismantling every advance I’d made.
It was then, as I navigated us back through the woods, that I realized two terrible but necessary truths.
First, Mr. Hawke was a legitimate candidate. Despite what I had told Mrs. Sweete earlier this afternoon, I no longer wanted revenge against him. If I was being honest with myself, I’d given him preference over my other candidates for a while now.
The second truth was far more insidious. I was starting to have feelings for Mr. Hawke—Edmond—and not the unpleasant kind.
All this time, I had measured him as a rival to outwit or an enemy to vanquish.
But something shifted between us in the woods today.
It was as if, in peeling back his blood-stained shirt, I had uncovered more than his wound.
I got a glimpse of the real man underneath the polished armor.
And, heaven help me, I found myself wanting to see more.
It was well and fine for him to be a real candidate, but I could not allow the future of my family to be endangered by something as foolish as a feeling.
As much as I wanted to toss aside the other candidates and throw all my cards in with Mr. Hawke, I had to remember that emotions were fickle things. History had proven that.
My namesake, Helen, had chosen emotion over reason, and it ended tragically for her and all of Troy.
She allowed herself to be swept up in her passion for Paris and ran away from her life of stability with King Menelaus.
Her thoughtless decision resulted in the Trojan War, which took Paris’s life.
In the end, Helen returned to her husband, but she was tormented with guilt and was never truly happy again.
And then there was Mother, of course. She had followed her heart and married my father, which only led to her—
I pushed aside the thought of her unhappy ending. Reason won wars, not the heart. The only logical way forward was to keep making progress with my other two candidates, even if it meant ignoring whatever this feeling was.
Yes, I would not fall in love with Edmond Hawke—at least, not before he fell in love with me first.