Page 25 of On a Midsummer Night
Henry nodded, his chest filling with sunlight. “I do.”
“But–but . . .” Beth paused, her tongue coming out to swipe across her lips.
Henry’s eyes grew heavy-lidded.
“We’ve only known each other these few weeks. Are you sure?”
He brushed his knuckles down her cheek, and Beth leaned into his touch. “I wouldn’t dream of holding you this way if I wasn’t certain.” He hesitated, his brows knitting together. “But are you? Have I misunderstood your regard?”
“No!” Beth cringed, but it quickly turned to a laugh when Henry chuckled. Her enthusiasm was adorable. “No, I feel the same way.”
Relief swamped him. “So I may call tomorrow?”
Beth’s mouth trembled. “I would be the happiest woman if you would.”
The air around them changed. Henry couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he felt it in the racing of his heart. In the tingle in his palms. In the tightness of his groin. And unable to resist a second longer, Henry dipped his head, his gaze trained on hers. She curled her hands around his lapels and rose on her toes to accept his kiss.
His lips touched hers like a spark to dried tinder, and a bolt of lust streaked through him to explode low in his abdomen. But it wasn’t only lust; it was more powerful, more all-consuming. Something that made him dizzy with exhilaration and fear.
Beth eagerly weaved her fingers through his hair, moaning as he coaxed her lips apart and tasted her with his tongue. Dragging his hands up her back, he cradled her head as he worshipped her. Worship was indeed what it felt like. Henry offered her his admiration, his devotion, his love with every kiss he pressed to her skin. And Beth clung to him, welcoming everything he had to give.
Even knowing how everything would eventually end, Henry had often thought of that midsummer night when he’d experienced a bit of magic. Peering into Beth’s eyes now, he would have sworn she thought the same.
Until he departed for the Weatherton ball that evening, Henry had thought it might be possible to conjure that magic again, and he hoped to finally speak with Beth about the future and how he would love to be a part of hers. That was until his valet had delivered the telegram. The one from Andrew Ramsgate, announcing his arrival the following week. Abruptly, all of Henry’s optimistic plans had been extinguished like a light.
But Henry couldn’t resist the spell of one last dance.
“Oliver told me how they removed you from the design team,” she whispered now, her gaze fixing to his cravat tie. “I’m sorry you’ve been left in such a predicament.”
Henry assumed Oliver would share some of his story with Beth, but knowing she was aware of even a portion of his dilemma stung. “Yes, well, as I said, life is not always fair.”
“And it’s been very unfair to you,” she murmured.
A long sigh blew past his lips. “Beth, I can only imagine what you must think of me after the last few weeks. After Bristol. Oftentimes, it feels as if that night with you in the Rochesters’ garden was the last moment of happiness I experienced. Since then, it’s been one misstep, one setback after another. And despite how hard I’ve worked, my future remains uncertain, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to make yours uncertain as well. Not when some other man can give you the kind of life you deserve.”
It felt as if he were chewing glass to speak those words. Oliver thought he and Beth could be happy together, but that specter of scandal still haunted Henry, and he refused to subject Beth and her good name to it. He was certain his heart would break when one day he read her marriage notice in the papers, but today was not that day. At this moment, Beth was his, and Henry would savor every second she was in his arms. Pulling her a bit closer in their dance, more than propriety dictated, he allowed his gaze free rein to coast over her lovely features.
“I’ve wished things were different. I’ve thought it countless times over the years, but not so much as I have since I saw you again in the Dalton House parlor.” Helplessness squeezed him like a vice. “I would have been a good husband to you. Every day you would have gone to bed confident in the knowledge that you were respected, admired, and loved.”
Her eyes widened, and her surprise brought a smile to his lips.
“Yes, I love you, Beth. I had no say in the matter. My heart recognized yours as soon as I set eyes upon you.”
The waltz had ended. The only reason Henry noticed was that a gentleman brushed past him as he escorted his partner from the dance floor. Quickly glancing about, he spied Oliver watching them over the crowd, a thoughtful look on his face. Turning to the left, his eyes collided with Mrs. Dalton’s, whose brows were tucked low.
It seemed as if all the sand in the hourglass had been expelled.
“I’m thankful for this time I’ve had to spend with you again, and I’ll cherish these memories.” Henry pressed his fingers into her side, his gaze cementing her image in his mind. “I wish you every bit of happiness you can steal from this world.”
With those broken words, he bowed over her hand and forced himself to walk away. He’d walked away from Beth before, and he would do it again—but this time, he would leave his heart behind with her.
Chapter Nine
The rest of the ball passed in a daze. Beth knew she danced and laughed and engaged in small talk with various gentlemen and acquaintances, but it all seemed to occur as if underwater, the sights and sounds obscured and distorted. When Oliver asked if she would like him to escort her back to Dalton House, she had readily accepted.
Henry loved her. He loved her but could not marry her. To hear the words fall from his lips had been like a dream, only for it to turn into a nightmare. And the worst part was that Beth had been so dumbfounded that she hadn’t said a word. His declaration of love had tied her tongue into knots. This could not be how it ended. At that moment, Henry had thought he’d set her free when he had chained her heart to his.
The short hackney ride home was silent, although Oliver had a comforting arm around her. When they arrived at Dalton House, he paid the fare and walked her to the front door.
