“It is worth quite a bit, Henry.”
They both held up their flasks and drank deeply of the Laramie. The previous Earl of Southwell had been furious when he’d found his finest and most expensive whiskey in the hands of two young lads. Henry had been sent back to his own parents in disgrace. Nothing new.
Mrs. Culpepper, fetching in a gown of vibrant green the same color as her eyes, strolled in their direction, a glass of wine dangling from her hand.
South turned at her approach and stretched out his hand. “Hello, my love.”
“Are you hiding, my lord?” She lifted a dark brow. “It seems tales of your bravery might be exaggerated. I’m terribly disappointed.” She took South’s hand, lowering herself gracefully to the blanket and settling her skirts around her while simultaneously holding her wine. She didn’t spill one drop.
Henry was duly impressed.
“A smart man knows when to retreat,” South replied. “Do we really know all these people? Because I’m not sure I like most of them.”
“I don’t believewedo,” she smiled back. “But Lady Trent does. You can’t imagine I actually requested the presence of Lady Bainbridge and her niece? They are obviously here for Montieth’s benefit, though I can’t imagine he’d seriously consider Miss Cradditch as a potential bride.” Sniffing the air delicately, she turned to Henry. “Lord Huntly, I’ve been informed of your mishap.”
“I believe everyone has, Mrs. Culpepper. South claims he isn’t gloating. Are you?”
“Me? Never.” A sly smile crossed her lips. “Though, I will admit to offering Peony an extra helping of strawberries. I may have fed them to her by hand.”
Henry and Mrs. Culpepper—Honora—had a somewhat contentious relationship. He’d insulted her at their first introduction, possibly admiring her bosom longer than he should have, and who could blame him? Her bosom was magnificent. South hadn’t been amused, nor had Honora.
“Having an animal do your dirty work? For shame, Mrs. Culpepper.”
“I’m quite cunning when necessary, my lord.” She took a sip of her wine while South gazed at her in adoration. While Henry couldn’t quite conceive why South would want to chain himself to one woman for the rest of his life, he could certainly see Honora’s appeal. Petite and voluptuous, Honora was a stunning woman with her raven hair and sparkling green eyes.
He probablyhadstared too long at her bosom when they’d first met. It would be difficult for any man tonotlook in her direction.
“I do not doubt it,” Henry replied, taking yet another swallow of whiskey. He was considering how he could convince his cousin to part with at least one bottle of the Laramie when a flash of gray appeared behind Honora.
Miss Stitch.Warmth immediately curled around Henry’s legs and up his thighs.
Clad in a gown of pewter, which he supposed was an improvement over the muddy shades of brown she usually seemed to favor, Miss Stitch came closer. Enough so that he could see her hair was bound into a delicate chignon at the base of her neck and not a complicated twist of braids.
Not voluptuous. Far too thin. Meager bosom. Hostile personality.
Henry wanted Emmagene Stitch to the point of desperation.
“Emmie.” Honora looked at her cousin in confusion. “I thought you were going to wait for me on our blanket.”
Emmie.A girlish nickname for such a prickly woman. Henry meant to address her as such at his first opportunity if only to annoy her.
“Miss Cradditch wouldn’t shut up about a trip to her modiste and a striped tulle gown she was having made for a ball for Lord Something or Other.” Miss Stitch rolled her eyes. “I was afraid I would fall asleep from sheer boredom and begin to snore thus ruining my determination to remain polite for the duration of the evening.”
Jesus.Henry wanted to kiss Miss Stitch—Emmie—until all that scathing hostility was channeled into the passion he sensed lurking just beneath her skin.
“She is a bit frivolous,” Honora said, standing. “I think she chatters so much because she’s terrified of Montieth. I’m not sure what Lady Trent was thinking in throwing the two of them together.” The reluctance to return to the rest of the party was clear in her voice. “I’ll make sure the servants attend you promptly, Lord Huntly, despite your being on your own island, as it were.”
South came slowly to his own feet, using the cane for balance.
Honora immediately took his arm, holding steady until she was assured he had his footing.
Honora, despite her faults, was hugely protective of South, a man who had fought through jungles and been attacked by wild animals. Henry found that oddly endearing.
“Very kind of you, Mrs. Culpepper,” he said to her before turning. “Good evening, Miss Stitch.” Had Miss Stitch informed her cousin of the poor treatment she and Henry had received the other night? He thought she had.
“Lord Huntly.” Her nose wrinkled.
“Are you coming, Emmie?” Honora looked at Miss Stitch, who hadn’t taken her eyes from Henry.
