‘Oh.’ To say she was shocked was putting it mildly. She had grown up believing that gentlemen adhered to a certain code of morals. But he had just admitted he would have allowed Miss Waverley to ruin herself, without lifting so much as a finger to prevent it.
‘Oh? Is that all you have to say?’ He had just, for some reason, confided something to her that he would never have dreamed of telling another living soul. Though for the life of him he could not think why. And all she could say was Oh.
‘No. I … I think I can see now why you wished to speak to me privately. That … kind of thing is not the … kind of thing one can talk about in a crowded drawing room.’
‘Precisely.’ He didn’t think he’d ever had to work so hard to wring such a small concession from anyone. ‘Hence the ruthless abduction.’ Well, he wasn’t going to admit that a large part of why he’d detached her from her family was because he still harboured a suspicion there could be some sinister reason for her having been sent to them. It would make it sound as though he read Gothic novels, in which helpless young women were imprisoned and tyrannised by ruthless step-parents, and needed a daring, heroic man, usually a peer of the realm, to uncover the foul plot and set them free.
‘I had hoped to find you at the kind of event where I could have drawn you aside discreetly and thanked you before now.’
‘Oh.’ She wished she could think of something more intelligent to say, but really, what was there to say? She had never met anyone so utterly ruthless. So selfish.
Except perhaps Miss Waverley herself.
‘I regret the necessity of being rather short with your estimable relation and her guests, but I am supposed to be working on a speech this afternoon.’
‘A speech?’
‘Yes. For the House. There is quite an important debate currently in progress, on which I have most decided views. My secretary knows them, of course, but if I once allowed him to put words into my mouth, he might gain the impression that I was willing to let him influence my opinions, too. Which would not do.’
He frowned. Why was he explaining himself to her? He never bothered explaining himself to anyone. Why start now, just because she was giving him that measuring look?
On receipt of that frown, Henrietta shrank in shame. Her aunt had positively gushed about what an important man Lord Deben was, and how people had stared to see him being so gracious to them when Henrietta was ‘taken ill’, and the more she’d gone on, the more Henrietta had resented him. She’d thought he was just high and mighty, looking down his nose at them because he had wealth and a title. But now she realised that he really was an important, and probably very influential, man. And he was telling her that he took his responsibilities quite seriously.
She could not wonder at it that he looked a little irritated to be driving such a graceless female around the park when he ought to be concentrating on matters of state.
And she supposed she really should be grateful for the way he was handling his need to thank her. She most certainly did not want to risk anyone overhearing anything that pertained to the events that had occurred on the terrace either.
Nor the ones that had propelled her out there.
‘I apologise if I have misconstrued your, um, behaviour,’ she said. ‘But you need not have given it another thought. And I still don’t see why …’
‘If you would just keep your tongue between your teeth for five seconds, I might have a chance of explaining.’
There was a tightness about his lips that spoke of temper being firmly reined in. A few minutes ago, she would have been glad to see that she was nettling him.
But not now, for she was beginning to suspect she might have misjudged him. And deliberately chalked up a list of crimes to his account, of which, if she were honest with herself, it was Richard who was guilty.
It had started when he’d come out on to the terrace just when she’d most needed to be alone. As she’d dived behind the planters, she’d banged her knee and roundly cursed him. And then, recalling the look he’d had on his face when he’d arrived at the ball, she’d promptly decided he was exactly like Richard. From then on, resentment had steadily built up, when to be truthful, she really did not know anything about this man’s character at all.
It was about time she gave him a chance to explain himself. So she made a show of closing her mouth and turned her face to look up at him, wide-eyed and attentive.
A slight relaxation about his mouth showed her that he had taken note of her literal obedience.
‘You made an enemy of Miss Waverley that night,’ he said. ‘And since you came to my defence, I felt I owed it to you to warn you. If she can find any way to do you harm, be assured, she will do it.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ Henrietta relaxed and leaned back against the back of the bench seat.
‘Do not take my warning lightly, Miss Gibson,’ he said. ‘Miss Waverley is a most determined young woman. Well, you saw it with your own eyes.’ Eyes that were an incongruously bright shade of blue. He’d been thinking of her, ever since that night, in shades of autumn, because, he supposed, of her windswept hair and the way her temper had blown itself out, leaving the atmosphere behind it scoured clean. Her eyes therefore should have been brown. Brown as a conker. It was typical of her that they should not conform to his assumptions. Whenever he felt as though he had her classified, she did or said something to set him guessing all over again.
But not Miss Waverley. The Miss Waverleys of this world were entirely predictable.
‘She will go to any lengths in pursuit of her ambition. I would not like to see that single-minded determination turned upon you, for harm.’
‘There is nothing further she can do to me,’ Henrietta replied gloomily.
Miss Waverley had already done her worst. Without even knowing it.
Henrietta had not been in the ballroom ten minutes before she had seen Richard. In spite of warning her that he had no intention of squiring her to any balls during her sojourn in town, there he was, all decked out in the most splendid style. His coat fit his broad shoulders to perfection. The knee breeches and silk stockings clung faithfully to the muscular form of his calves and thighs. He had turned, smiled in recognition, and crossed the floor to where she was standing.
Her heart had banged against her ribs. Was this the moment? The moment when he would tell her she had never looked so pretty, and why had he ever thought dancing was a tedious waste of time and energy? There was nothing he would enjoy more than taking her in his arms …
Instead, he’d said how surprised he was to see her. ‘The Twinings a bit above your aunt’s touch, ain’t they? Now, don’t be disappointed if nobody much asks you to dance, Hen. People here set more store by appearances than they do in the country.’
‘But you will dance with me, won’t you?’
‘Me!’ He had pulled a face. ‘Whatever gives you that idea! Beastly waste of time, if you ask me.’
‘Yes, but you did tell Hubert you would look out for me while I was in town.’
He had frowned and stroked his chin. ‘Aye. I did give Hubert my word. Tell you what I’ll do,’ he said, his perplexed expression clearing, ‘I’ll escort you in to supper. But I can’t hang about jawing with you now, because some fellows are waiting for me in the card room. But I will see you later, at supper, and that’s a promise,’ he had said, backing away swiftly.
So swiftly, he had collided with Miss Waverley, who happened to be walking past.
‘I say, dashed sorry!’ he’d said, leaping back and landing on Henrietta’s foot. She had tried not to yelp, for she detested cowardice in any form. Besides she’d taken far greater knocks from her boisterous brothers and their friends, growing up.
Afterwards,