“And,” the young man’s dark lashes fluttered down over his perfect cheekbones and his sculpted lips curved upwards, “Lady Chalfont will crush my ballocks if I ever betray her confidence.”
The marchioness snorted. “I believe I said I would cut your career short, not your codsack.” She turned her attention back to the earl. “Satisfied?”
Henry’s words would not be repeated outside this room. The secretary appeared sane, and no man in his right mind would dare cross the marchioness.
“Now,” said the marchioness, all grim determination once again. “What the devil are we going to do?”
Twenty
“. . . and if I am the man who buys it and doesn’t use it, it is any bauble your heart desires . . .”
—The Concubine and Her King.Unpublished MS.
Susannah shifted her feet back and forth, wrung her hands, tucked loose pieces of hair back behind her ears, but Henry was still, unmoving. Even in the sunshine, he was made of ice. In the last hour, she had watched him resurrect the walls they had torn down together, become the frosty Earl of Ashthorpe once more.
It’s not a battle, she wanted to tell him. It’s not a war.It’s your son.
A rider had come from the gatehouse ahead of Charles’ coach, so Henry and she were able to await Charles at the front of the house. She did not know if Henry wanted her with him, he had not asked her to accompany him, but she was convinced he needed her there.
Sheknewhe needed her there.
The coach arrived, and a blond young man—looking so much like Henry in his portrait as a lieutenant—climbed out, followed by a middle-aged man carrying a satchel.
The young man stared at Henry.
“Charles,” Henry said. There was no warmth in that single word.
“My lord.” The young man was equally icy.
“Lord Delamere, this is,” Henry gestured to Susannah, “my friend, Miss Beasley.”
A curt bow.
Susannah murmured, “My lord,” and curtsied.
“Lord Ashthorpe. Mr. Crompton, my solicitor,” Charles said.
A brisk nod from Henry. “I have met Mr. Crompton. Three years ago. After your brother’s death.”
“My lord. Miss Beasley,” Mr. Crompton said.
“You . . . you look well, Charles.”
Charles appeared unmoved by Henry’s very tepid overture.
Say more, Susannah urged in her head.
The secretary appeared, framed by the enormous doorway. “Her ladyship grows impatient. She invites you to join her as she does not wish to miss any of the conversation.”
Charles paled. “Lady Chalfont is here.”
He must have steeled himself to see his father but not the marchioness. He turned accusing eyes on Henry.
“She came to tell me your plans,” Henry said.
“I will not be hindered in this. The law is on my side.”
“Yes. It is.”
