importance to him that Thea desire it.
Yet, it would be dishonorable of him not to marry a young innocent whom he had compromised. "Thea, our actions this night will necessitate marriage."
"My regard belongs to another." She pulled away.
Hart's grip tightened. "Who, that dunderhead farmer?"
"Charles is not a dunderhead! He's wonderful."
"He's so wonderful that he appears to prefer the charms of Miss Rawlings, Thea."
In a sharp gasp, Thea caught her breath. "No, it is merely that he feels the difference in our stations so keenly."
"I, at least, have one thing to thank him for," he intoned as brushed a curl from her eyes.
"What is that?"
"He taught you well."
"Oh!" She flung his hands away.
"You do not deny it, I see," he said caustically.
Thea cried out, "You are impossible, my lord. Charles would never have kissed me in this manner. In fact, he has never kissed me at all." Her gown had been crumpled by his embrace and she extended a hand to smooth it. "Unlike you, Charles is a gentleman."
"Do not try to flummox me."
"It was my second kiss ever. Yesterday you stole the first." Hart heard the distress in her voice as she fought back tears. "You are c-c-cruel, my lord. Miss Mimms told me I would always remember my first kiss and now, n-n-now I will always remember this!" She turned and fled the music room.
Hart placed a hand to his forehead. What had he done? Why did the girl always make him lose control? Was his own self-importance of such magnitude that a young woman's pride and innocence must be sacrificed? He stared at the doorway through which she had departed then took a seat at the spinet and idly began to pick out the melody of their waltz.
He would speak with Steyne in the morning and hope to atone for his actions by offering for her. As much as he hated the thought of descending into the parson's mousetrap, no other option was open to him. Besides, there would be obvious benefits to marrying her.
The music of the waltz became more pronounced as he played in earnest.
He refused to believe that she loved that—that bag of stuffed feathers called Fossbinder. And Steyne would be delighted to have nabbed such a matrimonial prize for his daughter. Frustrated by these thoughts, his hands came down in a crash upon the ivory keys.
As he entered the hall to make his way upstairs, he heard a noise. He froze and listened intently.
"Pssst."
*
Lord Steyne peered from his study in hopes of catching Hartingfield. He did not wish to alert the household, most particularly his daughter, to the dialogue he hoped would soon take place between him and the marquess. Just then, he saw the gentleman exit the music room and head toward the stairway. "Pssst."
Hart stopped and rubbed his ear.
"Pssst," Steyne uttered a little more loudly. Hartingfield craned his neck and examined the dimly lit hall. Then his eyes met Steyne's.
He opened his mouth to speak but Steyne shushed him, whispering, "Quiet. She's just gone to the kitchens." Steyne then motioned him to enter the study.
Once Hartingfield crossed the doorway, Steyne firmly closed the door. "Have you compromised her?" he asked in an intentionally conversational tone, on his way to the chair behind his desk.
Hart found a seat in front of the massive desk, but did not meet the earl's gaze. How long had he remained in the empty and darkened music room? Still, he hadn't truly resolved anything. He had hoped to have a night to think matters over before speaking with the earl. "Yes. I lost my head. If it is any consolation, I intended to speak with you in the morning to request an immediate announcement of our betrothal."
"I've spoken with Thea and I will not force her to marry you."
Hartingfield sat upright and shot a steely look at his host. The man had taken leave of his wits! A father was supposed to insist upon marriage if his innocent daughter was compromised. What was the man playing at? And what was it about Steyne Hall that forcibly reminded him of a madhouse?
Yet, it would be dishonorable of him not to marry a young innocent whom he had compromised. "Thea, our actions this night will necessitate marriage."
"My regard belongs to another." She pulled away.
Hart's grip tightened. "Who, that dunderhead farmer?"
"Charles is not a dunderhead! He's wonderful."
"He's so wonderful that he appears to prefer the charms of Miss Rawlings, Thea."
In a sharp gasp, Thea caught her breath. "No, it is merely that he feels the difference in our stations so keenly."
"I, at least, have one thing to thank him for," he intoned as brushed a curl from her eyes.
"What is that?"
"He taught you well."
"Oh!" She flung his hands away.
"You do not deny it, I see," he said caustically.
Thea cried out, "You are impossible, my lord. Charles would never have kissed me in this manner. In fact, he has never kissed me at all." Her gown had been crumpled by his embrace and she extended a hand to smooth it. "Unlike you, Charles is a gentleman."
"Do not try to flummox me."
"It was my second kiss ever. Yesterday you stole the first." Hart heard the distress in her voice as she fought back tears. "You are c-c-cruel, my lord. Miss Mimms told me I would always remember my first kiss and now, n-n-now I will always remember this!" She turned and fled the music room.
Hart placed a hand to his forehead. What had he done? Why did the girl always make him lose control? Was his own self-importance of such magnitude that a young woman's pride and innocence must be sacrificed? He stared at the doorway through which she had departed then took a seat at the spinet and idly began to pick out the melody of their waltz.
He would speak with Steyne in the morning and hope to atone for his actions by offering for her. As much as he hated the thought of descending into the parson's mousetrap, no other option was open to him. Besides, there would be obvious benefits to marrying her.
The music of the waltz became more pronounced as he played in earnest.
He refused to believe that she loved that—that bag of stuffed feathers called Fossbinder. And Steyne would be delighted to have nabbed such a matrimonial prize for his daughter. Frustrated by these thoughts, his hands came down in a crash upon the ivory keys.
As he entered the hall to make his way upstairs, he heard a noise. He froze and listened intently.
"Pssst."
*
Lord Steyne peered from his study in hopes of catching Hartingfield. He did not wish to alert the household, most particularly his daughter, to the dialogue he hoped would soon take place between him and the marquess. Just then, he saw the gentleman exit the music room and head toward the stairway. "Pssst."
Hart stopped and rubbed his ear.
"Pssst," Steyne uttered a little more loudly. Hartingfield craned his neck and examined the dimly lit hall. Then his eyes met Steyne's.
He opened his mouth to speak but Steyne shushed him, whispering, "Quiet. She's just gone to the kitchens." Steyne then motioned him to enter the study.
Once Hartingfield crossed the doorway, Steyne firmly closed the door. "Have you compromised her?" he asked in an intentionally conversational tone, on his way to the chair behind his desk.
Hart found a seat in front of the massive desk, but did not meet the earl's gaze. How long had he remained in the empty and darkened music room? Still, he hadn't truly resolved anything. He had hoped to have a night to think matters over before speaking with the earl. "Yes. I lost my head. If it is any consolation, I intended to speak with you in the morning to request an immediate announcement of our betrothal."
"I've spoken with Thea and I will not force her to marry you."
Hartingfield sat upright and shot a steely look at his host. The man had taken leave of his wits! A father was supposed to insist upon marriage if his innocent daughter was compromised. What was the man playing at? And what was it about Steyne Hall that forcibly reminded him of a madhouse?
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