“What circumstances?”
Hayward held up his hand and began counting points off on his fingers. “Let’s see, shall we? First, you and Lady Harriet werethe last to emerge from the lilac walk. Second, when you did emerge at last, she had the pink-cheeked charm of a lady who’d just been kissed. But I suppose you don’t know anything about that, do you?”
Not only had Hattie looked as if she’d just been kissed, but quite thoroughly, at that. A bolt of pure lust shot through him at the memory of her reddened, kiss-swollen lips and hazy blue eyes, her slightly mussed golden hair.
What would that glorious hair look like tumbling down her back? Or spread across a pillow. She was so lovely, so tempting?—
“Well, Windham? What have you got to say for yourself?”
There was no use denying it. Hayward could always tell when he was lying. “Do you think Lady Fosberry noticed it?”
“Of course, she did. Nothing gets past Lady Fosberry. Fortunately for you, I doubt anyone else did, and a damned good thing, too. For God’s sake, Windham, do you care nothing for the lady’s reputation?”
“I do, very much,” he said quietly. “She…she matters a great deal to me, Hayward.”
He cared more for Hattie than he’d ever cared for anyone, but he hadn’t behaved as if he did, had he? He could trust Hayward to keep his secrets, but if Lady Fosberry had noticed, others might have, as well. Good God, he must have gone mad, kissing her as he had. What if someone had happened to see them?
Hayward’s expression softened, but he wasn’t yet prepared to let it go. “You have a perverse way of showing it, Windham. Lady Laetitia wasn’t at all pleased, and neither was her mother.”
“No. I’m certain they expected me to escort Laetitia through the lilac walk.”
“Indeed, and neither of them are the sort to take disappointment lightly, something you may want to consider before you make up your mind to court her, Windham.”
“I’ve considered it.” He’d done little else but consider it. “My father?—”
“Your father is dead, Windham.” Hayward said flatly. “You owe him nothing. Certainly not a lifetime of misery.”
Cass glanced at his friend in surprise. Hayward had never been an admirer of his father’s, but neither had he stated his opinion so bluntly before.
Hayward sighed. “I beg your pardon, Windham. I only mean to say you needn’t marry for money. But since we’re speaking so frankly, what was that strange business with Egerton earlier? You nearly tore his head off when he tried to take Lady Harriet’s arm.”
“It’s quite simple, Hayward. Egerton’s a villain, and I don’t want him anywhere near Lady Harriet or her sisters.”
“Weren’t you friends with him at one time?”
“Yes. I knew him at Eton, and later at Oxford.”
“Go on then, Windham. What’s Egerton done?”
Plenty, and every year more shocking than the last. Egerton, like so many men of thetonwas not the proper gentleman he pretended to be.
But then Cass was no proper gentleman, either. If he’d had any real honor, Egerton’s drinking, gaming and casual cruelty would have been enough to end their friendship.
It hadn’t been. But then Egerton had done something Cass could never forgive. “He threatened Lady Harriet.”
Hayward stared at him. “Threatenedher?”
“Not directly. He didn’t know it was her he was threatening. It’s a trifle complicated.”
“I have time.” Hayward lounged back against the squabs and waved his hand. “Proceed.”
“Lady Harriet and I kept in touch after I left Kent. We carried on a correspondence.”
Hayward blinked. “You carried on a correspondence with a lady to whom you’re not betrothed?”
“Yes. It went on for twelve years.”
“Twelve…good God, Windham. Are you mad?”
