Damn the man. Heathcliff had come up with several reasons why the house party would never work, why it was doomed, even though he had been the one with the idea initially. But Lucas had neatly destroyed all his arguments.
Because if he refused now, they would suspect.
Not that there was anything of note to suspect; rather, anything that meant something . . .
Surely a few kisses didn’t meansomething.
Nor did the fleetingly tender touches stolen as they passed in the hall.
Miss Miranda wouldn’t be truly interested in him, just as he wasn’t seriously interested in anything more than the stolen pleasures.
But that didn’t mean he wanted someone else to enjoy those same things.
The thought made his temper simmer just below the surface. But what choice had he? None. He was damned if he did and damned if he did not.
“Perfect.” Lucas nodded, taking Heathcliff’s silence as acceptance.
“Oh, I can hardly wait! Now, we must work on the guest list. Have you a piece of paper I may use? And a pen?” Lady Liliah came around to his side of the desk, her eyes scanning the table for the requested objects.
Heathcliff still hadn’t spoken a word, still holding out for some miraculously perfect reason to tell them to go to hell with their bloody idea.
No miracle poured forth, so he withdrew a fresh sheet of paper and a pen and ink, handing them to Lady Liliah.
She grinned triumphantly.
He resisted the urge to glare.
“Now then, who shall we invite? Surely you know some local gentlemen?” Liliah leaned down over a free area of the desk, her pen poised in eager anticipation.
Heathcliff glanced at Lucas, and he tapped his finger on the desk, irritated.
“Perhaps we could ask Mrs. Keyes? She is here year-round and certainly knows everyone in the vicinity,” Lucas spoke helpfully.
Heathcliff swore mentally. Damn the man.
“Perfect. I’ll go and request her assistance!” Lady Liliah left the paper and pen and ink unattended and quit the room in a rush of delight.
When the door closed, Lucas leaned forward in his chair, his expression unreadable, which only meant Heathcliff was going to utterly hate whatever he was about to say.
“You . . . could always come up to scratch, if the idea of her marrying another is so abhorrent to you.” He wore his gambling face, the one that gave nothing away. Not a tick in his expression, not an inflection in his tone.
Heathcliff shook his head. “The devil could also serve us tea, but just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s going to happen ever. You need to stop trying to intertwine me in your family theatrics. I’m already involved more than I wish to be, simply having her in residence. Take that and leave me be.” He was proud that his tone gave nothing away. Years of working at Temptations allowed him the perfect gambling face as well.
Lucas nodded, considered him for a moment, then stood. “Just don’t fold too late,” he murmured, and left.
Heathcliff sighed as he leaned back in his chair.
Fold? That wasn’t in his vocabulary.
Yet, as he glanced down, the blank paper and pen mocked him.
Reminding him that right now, he was the only option, though that was about to change.
And competition was never something he appreciated.
In fact, he had the feeling it was only going to compound the matter . . . and that was far more frightening than a house party.
People he could manage.
It was his own heart that had him concerned.
