Richard forced a laugh to match Julian’s. He could only stand frozen as Julian headed toward the door. Julian grasped the knob but stopped without turning it. He looked back over his shoulder and said, “Richard, I…I’m sorry about Shaw. I don’t know why I…”
“This is not your fault,” Richard said. “You were always honest with me. I’m the one who told you I was comfortable with things that…that I just wasn’t comfortable with. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Right. Right,” Julian muttered. He stood still for another second, then slowly opened the door and stepped out. He closed the door quietly behind him.
“Goddamn it, Julian!” Richard growled under his breath. Just his luck that he would see in the end all that had attracted him to Julian in the beginning—the gentleness, the apparent vulnerability. But then it would all change, and Julian would become the cavalier rakehell who laughed at Richard when he wanted to kiss him. Those traits seemed to come and go with him so quickly, until Richard could not decide which version of Julian was real and which was the front. Perhaps he would never know.
Richard waited a few minutes in the empty room to gather his thoughts, and give Julian ample time to get away, before he made his way back toward the ballroom. He spotted Mr. Cayson first and suppressed a cringe of pity. The man was once again wearing the tight, high-waist trousers made so popular by the most fashionable dandies. They looked terrible on the man, if not because of the lack of definition in his legs, then most certainly because of the mild paunch he carried. Richard found himself wondering why on earth a scholarly-minded man such as Cayson would dress in such a frivolous way, for it did not seem to match anything else about him. Richard did not believe his sister was of a shallow nature, but it still might benefit Cayson and Richard’s plan to suggest some wardrobe alterations. He only hoped Cayson would not allow his pride to be too wounded.
“Lord Richard,” Cayson said as Richard approached. “It is good to see you.”
“You too, Ben, you too!” Richard crowed, casting a quick eye at the various chatting groups around them. “And what’s this ‘Lord Richard’ business?”
“Eh…I thought you were looking far too
old
to be called just Richard,” Cayson replied with a bit of a struggle.
Good man
. Richard smiled approvingly and clapped him on the shoulder. He noted how several of the nosiest gossips nearby raised their eyebrows and made quick remarks to their companions. In less than an hour, Richard wagered, word would get around that Mr. Ben Cayson, a bookish nobody, was on first-name terms with Lord Richard Avery. Richard snorted with disgust but accepted it. Despite Sir Samuel’s nasty little gibe at White’s, Richard was hardly ignorant or dismissive of his privilege.
“I don’t suppose you have set eyes on my sister recently?” Richard said, lowering his voice. “It is impossible to find anyone here.”
“Yes. She is on the floor now. With Lord Brenleigh.” Cayson’s voice tightened.
Richard scanned the floor. It was a brisk country dance with partners facing each other in lines. For a moment, Richard almost forgot his purpose as he watched, transfixed. Henry was smiling broadly and executing the intricate steps and turns with a fluid grace that sent Richard’s mind thinking of very different, yet very similar, movements.
“He has been beset by vulture-eyed mamas all evening,” Cayson huffed. “It should be nothing at all for him to find someone else.”
Richard gave him an impressed look, but Cayson must have misinterpreted it. He colored instantly and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me. I did not mean to sound snappish.”
“Snap away, Ben. I have already told you that I disapprove of this arrangement, and I have reason to believe that Anne would be much happier with you.” Richard drew a breath against such an outright lie. He had no idea how Anne felt about Cayson. But he continued. “Allow me to be blunt, sir. I am in your camp on this.”
“I say!” Ben gasped.
Richard nodded. “We will not discuss it tonight, but if you are willing to submit to some…advice here and there, I believe we may oust the country earl yet.”
“Advice?” Ben pressed eagerly.
“Yes.
If
your pride is willing to tolerate it. I would not wish you to feel as if you are being handled.”
“No, not at all.” Ben assured him, then winced at his raised voice. He said more quietly, “I would be willing to take any advice you have to offer with regards to Lady Anne.”
Richard was not so sure the man would be as eager once the insults to his wardrobe began. In any case, it was not an issue to be pursued tonight. He said, “Have you reserved any dances with Anne?”
“Yes. The quadrille after dinner. Lord Brenleigh has reserved two dances with her, including the dinner waltz. Reserved them when he called this afternoon, the sneaky, high-handed…” Cayson trailed off in a grumble.
Richard nearly laughed aloud at Cayson’s growing irritation with Henry. Good. It would only strengthen the man’s resolve. The dance set ended, and Richard left Cayson with a conspiratorial nod. Henry was returning Anne to the duchess and her companion, who were acting as Anne’s chaperones, and stopped to make polite talk until Anne’s next dance partner came to retrieve her. Richard moved slowly, waiting for Henry to disengage himself from the duchess. As soon as he made a short bow and moved off through the crowd, Richard slid in beside him.
“Good evening, Henry,” Richard whispered close to his ear.
Henry started and nearly bumped into a footman carrying a tray of drinks.
“Quite a squeeze, isn’t it?” Richard observed lightly. “I doubt there is a soul I know who isn’t here.”
“Yes,” Henry said distractedly. Richard could see the wheels turning and knew that he was desperately trying to concoct a suitable excuse to detach himself, but the surrounding people were acting as Richard’s unknowing assistants. It simply would not do for Henry to cut and run. It would be observed, and there would be talk.
“If you’ve a mind for a hand of whist or piquet, I’m on my way to the card room,” Richard said brightly. “And before you say no, you should know I have a reputation as one of the sorriest card players in London. My own sister has fleeced me more than once.”
Several within earshot made tittering laughs at this bit of self-deprecation, leaving Henry little choice in the matter.
“In that case,” Henry said, swallowing hard, “I see no reason to keep you from paying some of my tailor’s bill tomorrow. Lead on.”
The path to the card room was along a wide corridor with few loitering groups. The plush carpet muffled every voice and footfall, but Richard did not need his ears to know that Henry was just managing to keep his temper leashed.
“Is it your intention to continue tormenting me after I wed your sister?” Henry said through his teeth.
“That would require you to marry my sister, which is not going to happen.”
“Damn you!” Henry cried. “There is nothing you can do about it. Culfrey is her guardian and…and what could you possibly say to him to make him refuse me now?”
“The truth, perhaps. That would do it.”
Henry halted. His blue eyes, mere inches from Richard’s own, danced with fear. “You wouldn’t. Richard, please don’t—”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,” Richard whispered at once, placing his hand on Henry’s arm. “I would never do that to you.”
Henry’s shoulders fell with relief, and it was only then Richard realized how reckless he was being. He pulled his hand back to his side and said in a full voice, “With this many guests, we will be lucky to find an open table in the card room.”
The card room was indeed packed, but Richard spotted a far table just being vacated by three men. The fourth kept his seat and waved a cordial farewell to the others. It was Julian.
Richard cursed under his breath, but there was nothing for it. Julian had already seen him, and leaving now would be tantamount to a social cut. He could not do that to Julian. Confident that he would have little to worry about since Julian and Henry knew nothing about each other, Richard headed toward the table with Henry close behind.
“Richard. I see none of the ladies would grant you a place on their dance cards. Again,” Julian said with a chuckle. It was forced, but Julian had always been an adept actor, and Henry did not appear to notice anything.
“As usual, I am a disgrace,” Richard replied lightly. He was the last person Julian would wish to see, and he knew it. “Allow me to introduce Lord Brenleigh. Henry, this is the Honorable Julian Garrott.”
Julian did not flinch at the formality of the introduction, but extended his hand with a cordial nod and said, “Ah, yes. You have your eye on the young Lady Anne, if you will forgive my boldness. Gossip is rather difficult not to hear.”
“Not at all. Lady Anne is a lovely young woman, and she does indeed have my attention.” Henry shot a mutinous glance at Richard. “I see we have only three for a game. Awkward, but I’ve played uneven before.”
Julian waved his elegant hand. “No need. We already have a fourth. He is just fetching himself a drink at the moment.” At these words, Julian shot Richard a guilty look, or one that was at least anxious. Now, why would he…?
“This crush has the marchioness’s servants running ragged,” came a deep, laughing drawl. Shaw approached behind Henry, who had just seated himself, and raised his brandy in a sarcastic greeting. Richard plastered on a look of polite indifference as best he could. Hopefully he could manage this uncomfortable situation without Henry becoming aware that anything was wrong, but something was already wrong. Henry did not turn around to greet their new arrival. He was suddenly very still, his blue eyes wide and fixed on the table.
“You know what a puritan old Glennbury was,” Shaw continued as he pulled back his chair. “So our hostess has kindly requested that play remain in shilling territory. Isn’t it a pity, Avery? I would not have minded taking some of your—”
Shaw’s cavalier monologue died on his hips. He was halfway into his chair when he turned and set his eyes squarely on Henry. Richard stared, gripping the edge of the table in anxious confusion as Henry and Sir Samuel looked at each other with bald recognition.
What the devil?
Julian cleared his throat. “Sam? Richard just introduced us. This is Lord Brenleigh. I believe he—”
“I know who he is!” Sir Samuel snapped under his breath.
Henry flinched, and Richard sat poised to stand and get Henry out of there, but he felt frozen. How could Henry know Samuel Shaw? And why were they looking at each other like that? Richard’s grip on the table edge grew painful as a vicious wave of jealousy moved through him.
Henry lifted his chin and choked out the words, “Hello, Sam.”
Sir Samuel’s expression changed so drastically that Richard was taken aback. His face twisted in a glare of total, unconcealed hatred. He bounded to his feet, his chair saved from flying back only because he had not yet pulled it in when he sat. Richard moved swiftly and snatched Sir Samuel’s wrist as his hands still rested on the table. Henry and Julian gasped.
“If you make a scene, I will make you sorry.” Richard’s voice dripped with icy warning. The room was full of people. It would take nothing for someone to notice them and fill every drawing room in London with talk tomorrow.
Sir Samuel closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, it was like an actor making his entrance to the stage. “Forgive me, gentlemen,” Sir Samuel said brightly. “But I just remembered I need to see Crofton about a horse, and he looked as if he was preparing to leave for the night.”
“You had better catch him, then,” Richard replied. Their eyes remained locked for a few more seconds. If Sir Samuel could not read his thoughts, Richard would consider him a fool.
Don’t you dare do or say anything, you bastard.
Sir Samuel tugged his waistcoat smooth, then walked away. He did not look at Henry again. Richard glared at his back until he disappeared into the corridor, while jealousy chewed at his insides.
“It seems to me,” Julian began in his gentle voice, “that three really is an uncomfortable number. For a game of whist. If you two will excuse me?”
Julian rose and gave Richard a knowing look, much to his dismay. Julian now knew. He did not know everything, to be sure, but what just happened was more than enough to suggest that Henry was like them.
“I have to get out of here,” Henry whispered as soon as Julian was gone.
“Come with me,” Richard whispered. When he saw Henry’s rebellious look, he continued. “We need to talk.”
“You said more than enough yesterday.”
Richard shook his head. He would not be deterred. Stubbornness and a fair amount of arrogance had always been among his less appealing traits, but it was jealousy that Richard had never been able to handle. The thought of Samuel Shaw’s hands on Henry… He felt murderous. When he stood, Henry must have seen the futility of arguing, for he rose and followed him from the room.
THEY ENTERED A small, cozy room that appeared to be a regular haunt of the hostess’s family. Richard was pacing the length of the room when Henry closed the door behind him. He was immediately reminded of a caged animal.
“How do you know Samuel Shaw?” Richard demanded.
Henry shook his head. God, how he wanted to flee! “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to—”
“You told me you had never been with anyone.” Richard clenched his fists at his sides. “You said…you had never…” He shook his head.
Henry took a step back at Richard’s intensity. Why was he so angry? Why would he care? And why did Henry feel the unreasonable urge to defend himself against charges that Richard had no right or business making?
“Sam is… We were once—”
“
Sam
.” Richard sneered. “On a first-name basis? I’m surprised. Usually Shaw doesn’t even bother to get a man’s name before he bends him over.”
Henry flinched as if he had been struck. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Some of the anger fell from Richard’s face as he moved toward Henry. Henry knew he should flee, but he didn’t move when Richard cupped Henry's jaw in his hands as if he meant to kiss him.