Page 26 of The Language of Love

Colin wore the expression of a man who’d just been asked an unsolvable calculus problem. “Annis Bowman?”

“We met her at Lady Sedgwick’s house. The young lady with an interest in India.” When Colin’s vapid expression persisted, Henry tried again. “You were quite taken with her, my lord.”

“Was I?” Comprehension dawned like a weak winter sunrise. “Ah, yes! The girl who teaches Anglo-Saxons or some such.” His blue eyes darted around the room. “Which one is she again?”

Henry felt an arctic chill emanating from Lady Sedgwick’s direction.

“She came with her aunt and cousins.” The countess inserted a significant pause before adding, “All of whom owe you a debt of gratitude, my lord.”

“They do?” Colin’s attention had already drifted back to the bouquet of young ladies who appeared to be inching ever closer to him.

“Perhaps you would like me to perform some introductions, Lord Rotherhithe.”

Henry could have chipped ice from the countess’s words.

“Smashing!” Colin exclaimed, his eyes never leaving the young ladies. “I’d especially like to meet that one with the big—”

“His lordship would be honored to meet anyone you deign to introduce him to, my lady,” Henry cut in, his skull throbbing with an ache that radiated all the way down to his toes.

Lord, it was going to be a long evening.