Every Time We Kiss

She frowned, two small lines indenting her forehead. Again, she reached over and gently caressed his hair. “How could this be your fault? Huntley did this, not you.”

“He only did this because my former mistress either asked him or is holding something over his head.” Matthew gulped his brandy down. The warming liquid did nothing to ease his frustrations.

“Why would she have done that?”

Matthew closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the soft velvet of the sofa. “She was in love with me. I knew that before I ended it with her but I thought…”

“Thought what?” she whispered.

“I thought if I gave her hope of my return that I wouldn’t be breaking her heart.”

Her soft hand moved to caress his face. “And people call you a rake and a scoundrel.”

“Yes, that’s me. The softhearted rake who can’t break his mistress’s heart.”

“I think that’s rather sweet.”

“Not when it caused you to almost be raped.” He moved his head closer to hers. “I can never forgive myself for that.”

“You have nothing to absolve yourself of. This was Huntley’s fault. He should have refused her.” Jennette glanced away, biting down on her lower lip.

“What is wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing at all.” She shrugged but he could tell she was avoiding the question.

“Jennette?”

“Perhaps I am not the best person to speak of forgiving oneself.”

“Especially when it wasn’t your fault.”

She wiped a tear away. Unable to see her crying without comforting her, he pulled her against his chest.

“B—But what if it was my fault, Matthew?”

Her fault? How could she possibly think the accident that killed John was her fault? “I was there, Jennette.”

“So was I.”

“Your foot slipped in the wet grass,” he said, holding her tighter. While he’d always known she felt guilt over John’s death, never would he have imagined the depths of her remorse. She’d spent the last five years playing the part of the frivolous woman with no cares. A part he’d commanded her to play.

“Jennette, if anything, I should take more blame,” he said softly.

“Why? You didn’t have the sword in your hand. I—I did.”

Matthew flexed his fingers and then pulled them into tight fists. “If I hadn’t spoken to you that morning…If I hadn’t ki—”

“No, it wouldn’t have mattered. What happened was my fault entirely,” she cried.

“Jennette—”

“I wasn’t watching the field as you’d told me to,” she said with a sob. “I should have kept my eyes on John and the field.”

She pulled away, rose, and then started pacing. There was a wildness to her expression he’d never seen before. Her long black tresses had fallen out of her chignon and flowed down her back. She took a long draught of her brandy and refilled her glass.

“Jennette,” he started softly to comfort her. “I saw you. I was there. You were watching the field and John.”

“No, I wasn’t. My gaze was elsewhere. I never should have thought to pick up a sword that day.”