“And what of Lady Felicity?”
He tipped his head back in realization, seeming to finally understand what troubled me. He lifted his hand slowly and pressed it to my shoulder. “Kiera, do not make the mistake of thinking Lady Felicity is an innocent victim in this. She is not some na?ve debutante doing whatever her father tells her. She knew before I left London that I had no real interest in her, and she didn’t like it. I’ve sent her no letters, made no effort to remain in contact with her. If she’s chosen to believe whatever nonsense my father has told her to explain my absence and my lack of communication, then she’s doing so with her eyes wide open.” His mouth flattened into a grimace. “She won’t be happy to hear I’ve rejected her, but she won’t be devastated. If I know her, she’ll somehow turn this to her advantage, and my detriment.”
“Won’t your father be furious?”
“Yes. He already is. But I’ve weathered his tirades before. I suspect I’ll do so again.”
I nodded, hoping he was right. About all of it.
I looked up into his open gaze, trying to decide how best to ask if there was more. For with Gage it seemed there was inevitably something else he wished to keep hidden.
But before I could question him, his eyes darkened. “What I can’t believe is that you would think I was capable of such a thing. That I would make my interest in you known.” His voice grew louder with each pronouncement. “That I would kiss you, while all the while I was engaged to another woman.”
When he phrased it like that, his anger did seem justified. But after all he’d put me through, I was not about to apologize. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth to begin with?”
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
I scowled. “So I’m supposed to be able to read your mind?”
“No. But you should have trusted me. You should have known better.”
“So when women like Miss Witherington or that horrible girl at the Assembly Rooms make tittering insinuations I know nothing about, I’m not supposed to react? I’m not supposed to be hurt?” I dropped my hands to my sides, clenching them into fists. My nails bit into the skin of my palms. “I may be good at pretending I don’t care, but I’m not made of stone.” It didn’t matter this time if he could hear the pain and resentment in my voice.
I crossed my arms and turned away to stare out the partially open window, shivering in its draft.
Gage marched around me, slamming the window shut. “Why is this window open? Are you trying to catch your death of cold?”
“To let the fumes out,” I replied softly.
“Oh, well, it’s too cold for that,” he stammered with a frown. “What are you doing up here painting at this hour anyway?”
I didn’t respond, knowing he’d only asked the question in an effort to stall. He already knew the answer. And if he didn’t, then he certainly didn’t know me very well.
His head turned to the side to stare at the crates in the corner still waiting to be unpacked. I waited, not knowing what to say or where to direct this argument. In one sense, I was relieved to hear that he wasn’t engaged to another woman, that he hadn’t deceived me in at least that regard. But I was also furious and frustrated with him. We were once again confronted with issues of trust, and I was weary of his stubborn refusal to confide in me until it was too late. Why did he insist on concealing everything about himself, everything that was important? Particularly something like this, something he should have known he would eventually need to explain, especially after Miss Witherington’s remarks at my aunt and uncle’s dinner table.
“I apologize,” he finally said in a calmer voice. His eyes shifted to meet my gaze. “You’re right. I should have told you. I just . . .” His shoulders flexed and hunched. “It was an awkward thing to explain. I guess I was embarrassed to admit my father would press such a thing.” He grimaced. “It still sounds degrading.”
I nodded, supposing I understood. Most men would think nothing of doing such a thing to their daughter or sisters, whether they liked it or not. How much worse would it be for a man to be controlled in such a manner?
“Did your father threaten to cut you off?” I asked, curious how rancorous the disagreement had become.
He huffed in annoyance. “Yes. But it’s a hollow threat and he knows it.”
I must have looked as confused as I felt, for he elaborated.