Page 7 of The Language of Love

Even though the Clarendon held the same white faces that you’d see at any Company gathering in Calcutta or Dacca, the people here looked untried and delicate.

But Henry knew that was an illusion. There was no creature on earth more resilient and minacious than a member of the English upper class, especially when it came to hounding and harrying those people they believed did not deserve to be among their number.

People like Henry, in other words.

Colin Parker raised his glass, as if eager to match Henry sip for sip. “This sounds like a jolly good lark you’ve come up with,” Colin said. “But I should think you’ll be lucky to have even half a Season before the jig is up, my lord.”

Henry leaned across the table, the sudden movement making his nitwit of an employee recoil. “I shall be exposed before this bloody meal is over if you do not remember to call me Parker, my lord.”

Color flamed in the real Colin Parker’s miraculously pale cheeks. How the devil the man had stayed so unmarked by the brutal Indian sun after living in Dacca for almost four years was a mystery to Henry.

“But—” Colin bit his lower lip, eying Henry like a rodent eyed a cobra.

“Yes, my lord?” Henry asked in as gentle and patient a tone as he could muster after seven solid hours in the other man’s company.

“Er, why must I address you as Parker even when we are alone, um, Parker?”

“Because you never know who might be listening, my lord,” Henry said. Not to mention you have less sense than a leg of mutton and need all the bloody practice you can get.

The raven-haired, blue-eyed Adonis across from him grinned in sudden comprehension and gave Henry an exaggerated wink. “Ah, yes, my—erm, Parker. Quite so, quite so. Could be lurkers everywhere.” He whipped his head from side to side, surveying the room through slitted, suspicious eyes before turning back to Henry and leaning over the table, his right sleeve grazing the butter dish in the process. “But, my—er, Parker, aren’t you worried somebody you knew in India might recognize you here?”

“I’ve not socialized outside Dacca in almost seven years,” Henry reminded him as calmly as he could—which took some effort since they’d discussed this same topic only the day before. And the day before that.

He continued, “And I haven’t been to Calcutta above twice in the past ten years and then only for business. I rarely attended Company functions if I could help it. Nobody there knew who my father was, and I told no one I was in line to inherit an earldom. Indeed, I never even mentioned my relationship to the Earl of Rotherhithe. So, no—I don’t believe there is much to worry about, my lord.”

Colin’s brow cleared. “Er, yes. Quite so.” He coughed and added in a low voice, “Parker.”

Henry couldn’t help being amused at the man’s attempt to imitate Henry’s lower and slightly raspy voice; it put him in mind of a puppy trying to imitate a wolf. Still, Colin Parker was trying.

In all senses of the word.

“By my lor—er, Parker,” Colin whispered loudly, “What if somebody who knew you before you left England sees and remembers you? Surely your family would recognize you?”

“No.”

Colin flinched like a scolded spaniel at the harsh monosyllabic answer.

Henry relented. “My family”—he said the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. Because it did—“live in Yorkshire. Even before I left for India, none of them came to London.”

Not because they hadn’t wanted to, but because they were all too bloody skint.

But Colin didn’t need to know that. His brain was already cluttered enough.

Henry saw Colin was still staring at him, confusion marring his perfect features.

“Besides,” Henry added. “It’s been twenty years since I last saw any of them. They all knew of me, of course, but I doubt more than one or two of them would recognize me.”

One of them being Julia, the duplicitous bitch who’d married his cousin Charles—the late earl—and the other being Edmund, Henry’s slimy heir presumptive.

Thinking about his least favorite people in the world caused Henry’s lips to curl into a smile that made poor Colin recoil.

Julia was the reason that Henry had sworn never to marry, and Edmund—ironically—was the reason that Henry would put aside his twenty-year vow and actually consider taking a wife.

Because he’d be goddamned if he died and left the earldom—no matter how impoverished—to bloody Edmund.

Henry looked up from his vengeful musing to find Colin regarding him with a pensive stare. “Not only has it been twenty years, my lord, but you need to understand just how it was for me in my uncle’s household.” He leaned toward Colin. “I would like to explain this only once, my lord. Are you listening?”

Colin’s eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.