Certainly, however, Fleur couldn’t do it with him holding her so tenderly, not when he left her mind scattered from his embrace. From what she wanted in vain.
And so, she began where all McQuoids had begun since that Lover’s Leap centuries ago.
“My family is scandalous, Henry.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And I am too.”
Hart gave her a playful, teasing wink. “You couldn’t not be scandalous if you tried.”
A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in her chest.
Fleur knew he wasn’t trying to be mean. That he spoke in jest to lessen the tension. And she should be both glad and grateful that, at her lowest, he extended friendship. She had been so alone in this, carrying, first, only the exquisite joy of that moment last winter, and then so many regrets and no one to share them with.
No, her regrets were recent. They had started and ended with this man.
Before her courage deserted her, Fleur forced the words out. They came in a single quiet exhalation. “I did something terrible, Henry, and if it is discovered, I will be ruined.”
Chapter 16
“The dew of compassion is a tear.”
~Lord Byron
As a duke, even as a ducal heir, Hart had always been strategic about whom he kept close. Unlike the rogues and rakes, he was meticulous in his choice of lovers. Only the most skilled paramours and jaded widows were considered, and each underwent a medical exam. He never risked disease from careless partners.
He used French letters. Because his brother was illegitimate, Hart had witnessed first-hand the cruelty those unfortunate souls endured. To prevent this, he always withdrew before spilling seed in his lovers. He had resolved that no child of his would suffer that fate.
When he interacted with respectable young ladies, Hart followed different but equally stringent requirements. Except for the ton events, he had no dealings with them. He put the same effort into avoiding syphilis as he did into avoiding the parson’s trap. As a result, when it came to unmarried misses, he knew next to nothing.
What hedidknow was this: when a young lady said, ‘I did something terrible, and if it is discovered, I will be ruined,’ it wasn’t about what it implied, but about what it trulymeant.
There were tales and stories as old as London itself, of debutantes and impressionable ladies who lost their virtue, name, respectability, and everything to some reprobate.
As a duke, he made it Kilmartin’s duty to report on the fallen to avoid their families. Hart received this instruction at ten from his father.
Hart still required Kilmartin to gather these reports, but not for cruelty. A duke could not risk his lineage or power byassociating with immoral women, so Hart treated reports on disgraced daughters as pragmatically as rental income.
And yet, there was nothing casual about the dazzling, spirited, effervescent Fleur, and her light’s glow lessened, along with the implicit suggestion of her ruin.
The balmy spring evening suddenly felt smothered by an intense, heavy heat. Sweat glazed his skin; his chest constricted under the weight.
But this was Fleur—innocent, always-smiling, vibrant, clever Fleur. For someone like her, ‘something terrible’ could mean anything. It could be as minor as getting left alone at her family’s estate, like her elder sister, or as simple as boarding the wrong ship, like her other sister.
She was a McQuoid, after all.
Ruination meant something different for a McQuoid lass than for a typical young lady.
Either way,hedidn’t want to hear her confession. He simply couldn’t—or wouldn’t—consider that she’d done something unthinkable.
“…It was just a kiss…Nor are you the first gentleman I’ve shared an embrace with—…”
But it wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what she needed.
Hart rubbed the back of his suddenly very tight neck.
“Did you hear me, Henry?” she quietly prodded him. “Or are you still having difficulty with your hearing. If so, you really are overdue for a visit from the Tremaine family surgeon.”