CHAPTER FIVE

‘YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER—’

‘Stop, Lily. Just stop.’

‘How could you?’ she yelled, fury and betrayal fighting to come out. But underneath it all was complete devastation. She should have known better. Men were all the same. Well, the men she met anyway. They lied and took what they wanted, uncaring of who they hurt in the process. She stormed past Henry, who was still yet to say another word.

She reached her bicycle from where it leaned against the side of the main house, briefly considering the basket, and choosing to leave it. She had to get out of here. Before she killed him. Because she really, really wanted to kill him this time.

The dress swirled around her legs and she bunched the silky material in her fist as she swung her leg over the seat, heedless to any possible damage.

She was such a fool. How could she have trusted him?

As if her actions had spurred his, he ran out in front of her, sliding to a halt on the grave, but she didn’t care.

‘Lily, wait. Please, let me explain?’

‘Look,’ she said, pressing down on the pedal and launching the bicycle forward. He took hasty backward steps. ‘You want to sell the estate? Fine. It’s yours to do with as you wish, Henry. But you used me! You lied to me!’ she cried, as she pressed down again on the upward swing of the pedal, before he grabbed the centre of the handlebar and halted her progress.

He was straddling the front wheel and their faces were almost inches apart.

‘I didn’t think you would help,’ he rushed on an out breath.

‘Of course I wouldn’t have bloody helped, Henry. You know what this estate means to me,’ she said angrily.

‘No, I don’t,’ he almost shouted, causing her to flinch a little in the seat, putting one foot down to steady the loss of his grip on the bike. ‘I have absolutely no clue why this estate is so important to you. I have absolutely no comprehension as to why every time I have a question about this place, I’m told to ask Lily Atwell. Or every time I try to make a decision I get this blank stare and I’m told to … ask Lily Atwell. So tell me! What on earth do you see that I don’t?’

She saw anger in his eyes, but she also saw confusion, and hurt. And that she understood. Not just because that was precisely what she was feeling, but she had seen – could still see – that Henry was wrangling with his feelings.

She shook her head and shrugged, trying to ease the words into her mouth that had blocked her throat to almost choking point.