Page 92 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
He stared at her. ‘I hate you sometimes, Susan, the times when you are unbearably and annoyingly logical.’
She smiled as her fingers slid her spectacles further up her nose.
His lips lifted in a shallow smile, and he shook his head. She turned around and clutched her knees again. ‘It is self-centred to want to be the one who is dead,’ she said, in a blunt tone.
A broken bark of humour left his throat. ‘Too much logic, Susan. I do not want to hear that. I feel guilty enough…’ His voice changed, the tempo of it breaking with anger, that she knew was distress. ‘He is dead because of me. Did you know that?’
‘You are not?—’
‘Do not deny it. You have just said he idolised me. He did. That was his downfall. He mimicked my recklessness. He would not have become ill had he not fallen from a climb to his tutor’s window.’
‘You cannot know that, Henry?—’
‘I know it.’
He took another swig from the bottle. He had drunk a good measure of it, and his brain swam a little from that and the port he drank after dinner.
‘I still say you cannot know.’
‘I am not in the mood for a woman who likes to have the last word. Leave it be, Susan. I know.’
She sighed heavily. ‘You will make yourself ill, Henry, if you bear all the responsibility.’
‘I have no choice but to bear the responsibility, and a moment ago you told me I was too selfish again. You cannot have it both ways – do not take it all upon yourself – do not be so self-obsessed. How would you rather I be?’
She did not answer.
He drank again. The liquor became a warm rush of oblivion.
‘Regardless, the way I feel is your fault. You made me feel so deeply. You opened my eyes so I see what others feel, and my heart so it will hurt when others hurt.’
He looked at her when he heard her take a breath to speak. ‘And do not say I am sorry, please.’
‘I am?—’
‘Susan!’
‘Sor—’
‘Susan!’
She took a breath. ‘How was the service?’
‘Awful.’
‘Everyone was so subdued when you returned. It is so sad.’
‘Sad… That is just another form of sorry. An inadequate, pitiful word.’
‘Sorr—’
He glared at her. ‘I am heartily sick of that word.’
‘I do not know what to say, Henry. I have stood and listened to conversation after conversation today, saying nothing, because I am scared of offending someone. I did not want to offend you… Oh.’ Her eyes glittered, brimming with tears and she turned to get up.
He caught her arm. ‘Do not go. I like having you here. I apologise for my temper. I am in a pig-headed mood and you are in the firing line, that is all. Ignore me.’
She sat back down, and he drank another swig from the bottle then put it at arm’s reach. He had drunk enough.
