“Angry,” Hew finally finished. Because of all the emotions he’d felt, that had been the one he’d clung to. His anger had helped him get out of bed in the morning, had forced him to work, had fueled the rage-filled letters he’d written to her family.
“She betrayed you,” Belle said. “Of course, you were angry.” She still held his hand, but she didn’t try to embrace him. And when he looked at her, he didn’t see the pity he’d seen in the eyes of so many others during that time.
“You don’t understand,” he said, wanting to see the pity in her eyes, so he could find a reason to distance himself from her. “Even after she left me—even after I found out she was carrying his child—I would have taken her back. Her parents wrote to her, urging her to return to me.”
Belle only nodded, her gaze concerned but not patronizing. “You loved her.”
“Christ.” Hew lowered his head and ran his hands through his hair. “I did love her. But I hated her too. She made me look like a fool. I was the same age you are now, five and twenty, and I couldn’t walk into a room without people whispering and looking at me as though they were attending my funeral. When she died, I was glad of it.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Hew’s head jerked up. “I threw a dinner party and drank until I passed out. I toasted her descent to hell.”
“You didn’t mean it. You were hurt. You were humiliated.”
“I was done,” he said. “Done with marriage and women and my career as a diplomat. I returned to London and began working for the Foreign Office. When I heard of the Royal Saboteurs, I made it my mission to become a member.
“Don’t say it.” Hew held up a finger. “My mother has told me enough times that I worked so hard to forget the pain.”
“I wasn’t about to say that.”
“Then you were about to say that not all women are like her. That may be, but I would have sworn on my grandfather’s grave that Clara would be honest and true. But her head, and heart, were easily turned. I’ll never trust another woman again.”
He saw her rear back as though slapped and reached to take her in his arms again. She thrust a hand between them. “Don’t.”
“Let me explain. Belle—”
“You mean, you would like to add milk and sugar to your words and make them taste sweeter. I have a secret for you, Arundel.” He didn’t miss the fact that she called him by his surname, not his given name, as he’d asked. “No amount of milk or sugar will sweeten your words, but I’m not sorry you said them because now I understand.”
Hew didn’t want to ask, but he felt compelled. “What do you understand?”
“That no matter how many times I tell you I’m not trying to trap you into marriage, it won’t make a difference. You’ll never trust me. You’ll never trust any woman.”
“I do trust you, Belle. I’ve never told anyone the things I just told you.”
“And I’ve never allowed a man to touch me the way you have, but I can’t let it happen again. I can’t allow myself to fall deeper in love with you.”
Hew felt his throat tighten and close. He tried to take a breath and couldn’t. His chest wouldn’t expand. She didn’t love him. She simply thought she loved him. And it was his fault—all of it. The last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt Belle or her father, and he’d done exactly that.
“Belle—” Hew somehow managed to croak her name.
“Get out,” she said, pointing to the door. “I’m exhausted and want to rest. Alone.”
“Let me explain.”
“And tell me more about how women will lie and cheat and trick men? About how we can’t be trusted? I’ve heard enough, thank you.”
Hew stood, his ears ringing as though he’d had them boxed. And now she was evicting him from his own bed chamber. He supposed he deserved it—the harsh words and the exile. He’d crossed a line with her he hadn’t wanted to cross, had known it would come to this, and now he would have to walk away from her.
“I’ll leave you,” he said and padded across the room. He half hoped, half prayed she would call him back. He still wanted her. He could still taste her on his lips, but when he passed through the doorway, it closed behind him.
When he turned back, he heard it lock.
Chapter Eighteen
Belle had heard other women denigrate men as fools. She hadn’t ever shared that opinion. Her father was no fool. He was the most wonderful, caring, loving person in the world. Maggie’s husband, Mr. Dormer, was no fool. He was kind and funny and the way he looked at Maggie made Belle’s heart clench. She’d known other men—tea merchants and importers, warehouse managers and chefs for wealthy peers. Most of those men were no fools. They knew a good tea and a good bargain.
But now she thought she understood what the women she’d half-listened to all these years were talking about. Men like Hew Arundel were clever and brave and canny. Hew was a perfectly intelligent man—even more intelligent than most men she knew. He was a fighter and a tenacious one at that.
