Page 81 of The Language of Love

Chapter 13

Henry wanted to head directly to Rotherhithe House and barricade himself in the library with a bottle of whiskey.

No, strike that. He actually wanted to check himself into a suite at the Clarendon, not his draughty pile of bricks. He wanted to eat a decent meal, drink the better part of a bottle of wine, and sleep in a warm, comfortable bed until he could forget what he had just heard: that the first woman in years that he’d felt even a twinge of interest in had allowed another man to court her while they’d been spending the last threeafternoons together.

Henry gave a snort of disbelief; soon he would be joined for life to a woman who would roll around on a blanket with one man while she was promised to another.

Instead of heading home or to the Clarendon, he turned his curricle toward Lady Sedgwick’s town house. He needed to talk to the countess before news of his identity became common knowledge.

His mind whirled while the curricle crawled along through the heavy late-afternoon traffic.

Strangely, it was not Annis whom he loathed—although such a money-grubbing and conniving female was one reason that he’d launched this deception to begin with. No, it was himself that he despised. He was an idiot who deserved his fate. He’d been a fool to conceive of this masquerade to begin with and had ended up hoist by his own petard.

He smiled at the archaic saying. When he saw Annis again, he would have to ask her where the saying orig—

Henry scowled and stopped the pleasant thought dead in its tracks. It would be a long time—if ever—before he could imagine having amusing conversations about idioms with such a lying, scheming woman.

He was such an idiot. Here he’d been mocking Colin for chasing after a mercenary woman when he’d succumbed without so much as a struggle.

How many times in his life would he allow himself to be drawn to a woman before he learned his lesson?

Not many more since you’ll soon be married, Henry.

He barked a laugh, making his poor horses jolt. “Sorry, lads,” he murmured.

Henry needed to get his temper in check, because he would soon have to confess his little deception to Lady Sedgwick and deal with her well-deserved wrath. The countess was, unfortunately, an unintended casualty of his deception, and he was ashamed that he’d used her. Her living depended on her reputation among the beau monde,and Henry had probably damaged that reputation.

Regardless of how much guilt and dread he was feeling about confessing the truth to Lady Sedgwick, an image kept wending its way into his mind’s eye like a serpent bearing an apple. An image of Annis on the picnic blanket that afternoon.

His cock, which had lost interest in the day the moment Henry had learned about Annis’s banker beau, speedily reanimated at the memory of her supple body squirming and thrashing beneath his hand and—

Henry gritted his teeth against the provocative memory. He didn’t want to be thinking good thoughts about her because he was furious with her.

Why had she done it—any of it? Not just their amorous tussle on the blanket, but sneaking away on carriage rides with him when she was trying to snare the rich banker?

Because of his distraction, Henry found himself standing in front of Lady Sedgwick’s door far sooner than he would have liked. Indeed, the cowardly part of him—which had grown larger the closer he came to the countess’s townhouse—silently prayed that she wasn’t home.

“Colin Parker to see Lady Sedgwick,” he said, telling his lie for one last time to the domestic who answered the door.

Before the woman could answer him, the countess herself floated gracefully down the stairs.

“Ah, Mr. Parker,” Lady Sedgwick said, her shapely lips curving into the feline smile that always made him feel like she knew things. She glanced behind him. “Are you alone today?”

“Yes. I wondered if I might have a moment of your time?”

“Of course. Please come up.” She turned to her servant. “Will you send up tea, please?”

The last thing Henry wanted was another watery beverage, but he might actually need some tea today.

Once they’d both settled into chairs in her parlor, she said, “How may I help you, Mr. Parker.”

Henry hated to be dramatic, but…

“I’m not Colin Parker. I’m Henry Singleton. Parker—the man who you think is the earl—is actually my employee.”

“I know.”

Henry blinked. “I’m sorry, but did you say—”