Page 50 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
Soft sobs escaped her lips as she cried, her heart aching for an unrequited love - a love that was never meant to be.
CHAPTER28
Hugh stood in the center of the ballroom, his heart racing as he watched Harriet flee through the double doors leading to the garden. For a moment, he was struck by the sudden change in atmosphere, the way the music seemed to fade into the background and the chatter of the guests became a distant hum. All he could focus on was the empty space where Harriet had stood just moments before, the lingering warmth of her hand in his as they danced. Why on earth had she run? It tore through him and he looked around hesitantly.
All around him, people were whispering pointedly, their words drifting towards him.
“...knew there was something wrong with that marriage.”
“...poor girl, to be forced to marry a Scot.”
“...would never allow my daughter to...”
Shaking himself from his reverie, Hugh closed his eyes. Strangely, he did not care as much about the whispers as he thought he would. The only thing he cared about, the only thing he could care about, was Harriet - who he knew would not have run from the dance floor had it not been for a reason. It was not a decision that required much thought - he made his way out of the ballroom quickly, ignoring the pointed stares and fierce whispers.
As he stepped out into the cool night air, Hugh's eyes scanned the dimly lit paths, searching for any sign of Harriet. And then he heard it - the soft, muffled sound of crying coming from a secluded alcove near the far end of the garden.
His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he approached, the sight of Harriet's hunched shoulders and shaking frame making his breath catch in his throat. She looked so small, so vulnerable in that moment, and all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and soothe away whatever pain had brought her to this point.
“Harriet?” he called out softly, not wanting to startle her. “What happened? What is goin' on? Are ye all right?”
At the sound of his voice, Harriet's head snapped up, her tear-stained face a mask of shock and dismay. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened, and then she was on her feet, stumbling backwards as though she meant to flee.
But Hugh was faster, his arms reaching out to catch her before she could take more than a few steps. He pulled her close, his hands sliding around her waist as he held her against his chest, the frantic pounding of her heart echoing his own.
“Let me go,” Harriet pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled weakly in his embrace. “Please, Hugh. I cannot... I cannot do this. It is too difficult, please just... just let me go.”
But Hugh only tightened his hold, his chin coming to rest atop her head as he murmured soothing words of comfort. “Shh, lass. It's all right. I've got ye. I'm here.”
Gradually, Harriet's struggles ceased, her body going limp as she sagged against him, her face buried in the fabric of his coat. For a long moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in each other's arms as the distant strains of music and laughter floated through the air.
And then, Harriet spoke, her voice muffled and thick with tears. “I am sorry, Hugh. I am so, so sorry.”
This was not what he had expected at all. A part of him had thought that Lady Granfouly’s cruel words, the stares or even the realization that she was bound to him even if he left for his country estate was what had caused his wife to cry - not in a million years did he expect her to apologize to him.
Incredulous, Hugh pulled back slightly, his hands coming up to frame her face as he tilted her chin upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Sorry? What on earth are you sorry for, lass?”
Harriet shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked up at him with eyes that were filled with anguish and regret. “For everything. For all the stupid, foolish things I've done since we married. And before we married. For pulling those ridiculous antics at the ball, for trying to push you away when all you've ever done is try to be kind and patient with me.”
She took a shuddering breath, her fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket as though she were afraid he might disappear if she let go. “I know how hard you've worked to rebuild your reputation, Hugh. How much scrutiny and judgment you face from thetonbecause of your Scottish blood. And I... I've only made things worse, have only brought more scandal and gossip down upon your head with my selfish, impulsive behavior.”
Hugh's heart clenched at the raw pain in her voice, the way her words were laced with a self-loathing that made him want to shake her, to make her see herself through his eyes. But before he could speak, before he could find the words to reassure her, Harriet pressed on, her voice barely above a whisper.
“And then there is the promise,” she said, her eyes squeezing shut as though she couldn't bear to look at him. “That stupid, foolish promise I made you swear, the one where we agreed not to fall in love, not to let our hearts be swayed by sentiment or emotion.”
She let out a humorless laugh, the sound sharp and brittle in the quiet of the garden. “I thought I was protecting myself, thought I was guarding my heart against the pain of heartbreak and disappointment. But I was wrong, Hugh. I was so very, very wrong.”
Hugh’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse thundering in his ears as he struggled to make sense of her words. Surely she couldn't mean... surely she wasn't saying what he thought she was saying.
But then Harriet lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a fierce, unwavering intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. “I broke that promise, Hugh. I broke it the moment I agreed to marry you, the moment I let myself start to care for you, to see the man beneath the gruff exterior and the reserved facade.”
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with emotion as she continued. “I tried to fight it, tried to push away the feelings that were growing inside me with every passing day. But it was no use. My heart... my stubborn, foolish heart had already made its choice. And that choice was you, Hugh. It will always be you.”
For a long moment, Hugh simply stared at her, his mind reeling with the implications of her words. He had hoped, had dared to dream that perhaps, someday, Harriet might come to care for him as he did for her. But to hear her say it aloud, to know that she loved him, that she had broken her own vow in order to give her heart to him...it was almost too much to comprehend.
And then, as though a dam had burst inside him, Hugh surged forward, his hands cupping Harriet's face as he brought his lips down to meet hers in a searing, soul-deep kiss. He poured every ounce of love and longing and desperate, aching need into that kiss, his arms wrapping around her as he pulled her close.
Harriet responded with equal fervor, her arms twining around his neck as she pressed herself against him, their bodies molding together as though they were two halves of the same whole. In that moment, nothing else existed beyond the two of them, beyond the overwhelming, all-consuming love that flowed between them like a living, breathing thing.
