Page 99 of The Language of Love

He deeply regretted that, but he’d done all he could to help her. He wasn’t about to grovel. Especially not to the Earl of Avington.

And that was exactly what he’d told the other man before he’d walked off and left Miles seething on the Asquith terrace.

“I haven’t yet wished you happy,” Avington said now, a mocking smirk sitting oddly on his angelic features.

“Thank you, my lord.” Henry gave him a smirk of his own and couldn’t help adding, “I understand you might be celebrating your own nuptials soon.”

Avington recoiled. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Miss Mary Barnett—she of Barnett Iron fame.” Henry gave him an innocent look. “Or is there some other heiress that you are almost betrothed to?”

Displeasure emanated from the other man like heat from a forge. “Who told you that?”

“The beau monde does not have a monopoly on gossip, Avington. We citshave our own grapevine, you know.”

“It is disingenuous of you to claim the designation of cit, Rotherhithe. Your title is ancient, your blood far bluer than mine.” He stepped closer until they were barely an inch apart. “I’ve noticed that Annis has not been her usual ebullient self this past week.I hope nothing is amiss between you?”

The smile slid from Henry’s mouth. “You needn’t concern yourself with my wife, Avington.”

“Annis is very dear to me, Rotherhithe, and I would take it personally if she were to be made unhappy.” Avington’s normally friendly blue eyes were like ice.

Henry closed the bit of distance that remained between them, bumping the other man’s chest hard enough to drive him back a step. “You gave up any right to feel personally about my wife when you forsook her for money, my lord.”

Avington’s brow furrowed. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re not in love with her. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“Me and… Annis?”

“There is no you and Annis,” Henry hissed, his raging jealousy slipping its leash like a savage dog. “You had your chance with her and made your choice. If you know what is good for you, my lord, you will stay away from my wife.”

Avington blinked. “You want me to stay away from Annis?”

“That’s right.”

Avington stared at him for a long moment.

And then the bastard laughed.

“What is so bloody amusing?” Henry demanded.

The earl grinned and shook his head, still chuckling as he sauntered back toward his clutch of friends.

A low growl slipped from between Henry’s clenched jaws as he watched Avington lean down and kiss Annis’s cheek.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes glassy as she gazed up at the godlike Avington, her expression one of deep sadness.

“Bloody hell,” Henry muttered, turning away from the affecting scene. Would she ever get over Avington? Or was her love for another man something that Henry would need to contend with for the rest of his life?

He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to find Annis beside him.

“I’m ready to go,” she whispered.

He guided her out of the foyer to where his town carriage waited to take them away to their new life. Once he’d settled her inside, he took the seat across from her, watching as she smiled and waved at the small clutch of guests who’d followed them outside to see them off.

She waved until she couldn’t see them any longer and then turned to Henry, the cheerful expression she’d worn only moments earlier—with her friends and grandmother—nowhere in evidence. In the bright afternoon light, he could see the dark smudges beneath her jewel-like eyes

Avington had been right about one thing: she didn’t look happy.

He’d believed the Earl of Avington had been a fool for throwing away her love. Had Henry been a fool for marrying a woman who loved another man? Was she so in love with Avington that she would never be happy without him?

Neither of them said a word until they reached the Clarendon, where Henry had engaged the largest connecting suites.

Once the porter had shown them to their rooms—where both their servants were already busy settling in—Henry stopped in the doorway between their adjoining chambers.

“I thought you might wish for some rest, so I ordered a private supper for you in your room. I will come to you at nine o’clock.”

She startled, as if his words surprised her. Had she believed that he would forego bedding her?

If so, then she’d been sorely mistaken on that score.

Henry might not possess her heart, but her body belonged to him, bought and paid for.

Nice, Henry. That’s an excellent way to think of your new wife, as your possession.

“Thank you, my lord.” She nodded stiffly and shut the door, leaving Henry standing on the other side.