A frown marred his brow. “Louisa.” He rose, putting the newspaper to one side. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No.” She hesitated in the doorway. “Would you like me to go?”
“Of course not.” With a wave of his hand, he gestured for a footman to lay her a place at the table beside him. “I am accustomed to rising early,” he explained as she crossed the room to take the seat. “Old army habits die hard.”
“Even in polite company?”
“Especially in polite company. This is a rare moment of peace in a house full of people.” He poured himself some tea and when she nodded, also poured her a cup. His voice was measured and polite, no hint of anything he felt underneath it. And no mention of the last time they had met.
Perhaps it was better that they did not speak of it.
She preferred it when he was angry or hurt her. This polite gentleman, always seeing to her comfort, was confusing.
“Are you enjoying the party thus far?” he asked.
“Yes. George is an excellent host.”
Henry’s smile did not touch his eyes. “Yes, he is.”
“Fear not.” She sipped her tea. “I have no intention of marrying him.”
“I’m glad of it,” he said, the smile widening a little. “I think you would eat him alive.”
“How unflattering a sketch of my character,” she said dryly.
He chuckled, and she did her best to hate the sound. “Or of his.”
“That would make you a very disloyal friend.”
“I like to think honesty is not the same as disloyalty,” he said, offering her a plate of eggs. “George has many excellentqualities, but patience is not one of them. That has no bearing on our friendship.”
She had witnessed George’s lack of patience for herself, and although he was an extremely obliging friend, she had already long ago come to the conclusion they would not suit. Aside from anything else, George was looking for a wife with the intention of providing his line with heirs. She would not be the right lady for that role.
That was, if she had ever intended to marry again.
Which, notably, she did not.
“Is that to say that you think you would better suit me?” she asked. After all, she now had a fortune. All his prior reluctance had no further grounds.
“You certainly thought so once.” He looked at her, eyes dark and hungry, a sense of that half-starved denial she had sensed before. It made her feel a little unsteady, as though instead of sitting, she was floating. Untethered. A boat with no anchor.
“Once,” she said. “That was before you refused to marry me. And left for war.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw as he glanced down at his hands, one of which was clutching a knife. He relaxed his fingers. “I bought a commission because I could not bear to see him parading you around Town.”
“For nine years?”
“I was somewhat occupied in fighting a war.”
She raised a brow. “You could very easily not have been.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “Very well, it was cowardly of me. Anything else you would like me to confess, or would you like some jam?”
She blinked, disarmed by his easy acceptance of blame. “You admit it?”
“And I apologise for it. For—well, you know for what else.”
“For refusing to run away with me?”
