She knew he’d wanted to do much more. He’d begun to unfasten his breeches before thinking better of it. And even she, inexperienced as she was, could not fail to see that he was still massively aroused.
It couldn’t have been easy for him to call a halt. Especially since he was not used to exercising any self-restraint. If she were one of his usual women, it would all have reached a natural conclusion by now and they would be sipping wine together, laughing and chatting comfortably.
No wonder he was so angry with her. Perhaps if she explained that she wouldn’t demand, or even hope for, a marriage proposal from him, he would push her back down on to the sofa and carry on where they’d left off.
Though all that would accomplish, in the long term, would be her degradation. Her family would be dreadfully disappointed in her, should they ever find out, and as for him—he would despise her.
And she didn’t think she could bear that, on top of everything else. Better not to make the offer. At least then she could walk away clinging to the few tattered shreds of what remained of her dignity.
With an expression of exasperation, he started to twitch her disordered clothing into place with deft fingers. Removed pins from her hair, tweaked curls and fixed them back in place with a dexterity that spoke of years of practice, while she just stood there, incapable of either moving or framing words.
He hadn’t had any trouble framing words. He’d given her quite a trimming, although she’d detected concern at the back of it. He’d rebuked her in the same way her brothers would have done, had they caught her doing something stupid and dangerous.
So he did care for her. Just a little bit.
If he didn’t, he might have just used her to slake his needs, before walking away and leaving her to deal with the consequences alone.
But he hadn’t. He was still, to judge from the state of his breeches, quite uncomfortable, yet he was tidying her up, ensuring she could return to her world without a stain on her character.
For him, that amounted to quite a sacrifice.
It made her love him all the more.
When he eventually stepped back and surveyed her appearance with a critical eye, she wasn’t trembling any more.
It was amazing how swiftly the body could recover, when inside she felt as though she was dying.
‘Go on, get out of here,’ he said harshly. ‘Even your aunt might start to notice you missing if you loiter much longer.’ And he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to resist her if she kept on standing there looking so woebegone. He would be sweeping her into his arms and on to that sofa, and condemning them both to hell for the rest of their lives.
‘F-farewell, then,’ she stuttered, then turned on her heel and ran to the terrace door. Fumbled her way through the heavy velvet curtains, and rattled the key in the lock.
Don’t go...
The plea died on his lips as she finally managed to get the door open and fled through it, out into the night.
Leaving him alone. Utterly alone.
He sank on to the sofa and buried his face in his hands.
Chapter Twelve
Henrietta did not go to Lady Carelyon’s dress ball. Lord Deben ensured she had no need to, by disappearing.
At first, most people said he must have gone to one of his estates to lick his wounds in private, though some maintained that was nonsense, he wouldn’t care about a skinny little nonentity that much. He’d probably just gone to the races.
When he did not return to town along with the other racegoers, the rumourmongers became more inventive. Perhaps he’d taken off with Mrs Yardley, an attractive widow in straitened circumstances who’d been resolutely refusing offers of protection from various well-heeled members of the aristocracy for the past two years. It would certainly account for the fact that she’d disappeared at about the same time.
For three days Henrietta tortured herself by imagining him slaking his desires in some out-of-the way love nest with this glamorous, beautiful widow, until Mrs Yardley appeared in Green Park, walking with the maiden aunt who acted as her companion and chaperon. They were both, according to the buck who’d accosted them, stunned to discover they’d been thought missing and indignant to hear of what Mrs Yardley was suspected. They had both merely been suffering from a minor indisposition which had made them stay within doors for a few days. To judge from the redness of both their noses, came the report, and the bleariness of their eyes, they’d most likely had a summer cold.