“Brava!” Sarah clapped her hands.
“I understand.” Lucy bowed her head. “I leave you to it. He’s here.” Lucy lifted her chin. “Over by the refreshment table. I suggest you mingle for a while and allow him to come toyou.”
***
Hart stood with Harlborough, Norcross, and Wenterley on the sidelines discussing horseflesh and the latest sales at Tatt’s when Norcross elbowed him. “Don’t look now, Highgate, but if I don’t mistake my guess your wife is back.”
Hart spun around. By God, it was… Meg. She worea green gown that hugged her breasts and fell in soft folds from the high waist. Her hair was straightened, as it had been that first night he’d seen her at the Hodges’ ball. She still looked like a goddess. Even better than he remembered. He realized… he had missed her.
Had Berkeley told her he’d be here? Did she want to talk to him, too? His eyes scanned over her, taking in her glorious golden locks and her trim figure. Their night together flooded back through his mind, making him hard.
“Apparently, becoming a future countess has made her sought after, even with the scandal surrounding your marriage,” Norcross said.
Norcross was right. At least a dozen people floated around her, talking and laughing and vying for her attention.
“No one cares about a scandal once a nice tidy marriage takes place,” Harlborough said with a laugh. “Besides, a future countess is a future countess, especially when she’s as stunning as Lady Highgate.”
Hart was barely listening. Instead, he scanned the faces of the men surrounding his wife. “Damn it. That had better not be who I think it is with her,” he ground out.
“Who?” Wenterley craned his neck to get a better view.
“Be discreet for heaven’s sake, Went.” Harlborough took a surreptitious glance himself.
Hart clenched his fist around his brandy glass. “That sop, Sir Winford.”
“That’s exactly who it is,” Wenterley provided helpfully. “I thought I recognized him. I heard he recently got himself engaged.”
“I don’t care. I’m going to rip that blighter limb fromlimb.” Hart pressed his still-full glass into Wenterley’s hand.
“I thought you didn’t get jealous, Highgate?” Harlborough raised a brow.
Hart growled and stalked off through the crowd to claim his wife.
Hart knew the moment she saw him. Meg’s bright-green eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she went back to laughing at whatever Winford, that dolt, had said. Engaged or not, how dare the man ogle his wife? How dare any of these men ogle her? She was so perfect and pretty.
Hart wanted to gather her in his arms and take her out of here and make love to her. He felt like he wanted to vomit. He felt like he wanted to crush the skulls of the other men surrounding his wife. By God, he was consumed with jealousy. Bloody hell, Harlborough was right, and it was exactly as Berkeley described it. He was jealous, of all bloody unlikely things. Damn it, he was turning into his father. His father was right, too. It was the worst feeling in the world.
Hart was about to barrel into the center of the group and drag his wife bodily away when Sarah caught his eye. She stood in the crowd surrounding Meg, and motioned for him to follow her to the side of the room. He remained frozen, keeping an eye on his wife. Despite his clawing desire to whisk Meg away from her admirers, his common sense argued he’d better hear from Sarah, first. If what Lucy had told him was true, Sarah would know. Reluctantly, he headed toward his sister.
“When did you get back?” he asked Sarah in a harsh tone as soon as they were far enough from the crowd to not be overheard.
“This morning.” Sarah had her arms crossed in front of her and gave him a sour expression.
“You didn’t see fit to tell me?” he ground out.
Sarah shrugged. “It was Meg’s choice, not mine. Lucy tells me she spoke with you.”
Hart pressed a knuckle to his forehead. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. She read me the riot act is more like it. She called me an idiot.” He couldn’t help but glance over his sister’s shoulder at Meg, who smiled and laughed with the group surrounding her. A knife twisted in Hart’s gut. Would it cause a hideous scandal if he called out Winford? Yes, damn it. Yes it would.
Hart scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “Is it true, Sarah?” He searched his sister’s face.
“Is what true?”
“Is it true that the reason Meg went out to Lucy’s garden that night was because she had something important to tell me?”
Sarah’s gaze swung to the marble floor. “Yes, it’s true.”
Hart swore under his breath. “What was she going to say?”
