Page 9 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

“Careful, you’ll make her heart flutter so quickly she’ll be unable to dance,” Henley’s voice whispered as they walked away.

“I suppose I retained some of my charm, then.”

“Just don’t weaponize it.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because your prey is not the type that is used to its potency,” Henley replied. “And if you lay it on too thick, she might suspect something rather than honorable intentions. If you gather my meaning.”

“Good Lord. Very well. When did you take on such a fatherly role? It’s damnably annoying.”

“It’s a natural response to having a child on the way, I suppose.” Henley’s tone was dry, but Edwin noted the way his brother smiled, unable to hide his joyful expectation of the prospect.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. You’re inflicting the world with a copy of you,” Edwin teased without heat.

“Ah, or a copy of my wife, or better yet, a blend of us both. I can’t imagine how the world has survived without such a gift,” Henley replied, his grin widening.

“Heaven help us all.” Edwin glanced heavenward.

However, it was a strange sensation, the knowledge that Henley’s wife was at the heart of the scandal that sent Edwin for the Continent.

She had, after all, been courted by himself … only for his brother to steal her heart right under his nose. However, the better man had won. He could admit that now. He wouldn’t have done justice to Anna’s heart, and Henley had loved her nearly his whole life in miserable silence. For Edwin, Anna was a prize to be won and displayed. For Henley, Anna was the world.

He’d never seen the like and, honestly, didn’t want to have to experience that sort of desperate love. No, he’d take his control, his measured charm, and a biddable wife who didn’t have a firm hold on his heartstrings. Too much vulnerability, too much risk.

“You’re oddly quiet,” Henley stated as they found a position beside the refreshment table.

Edwin considered who else to dance with and silently weighed his options on if he should single out many versus one woman. “Just planning.”

“Plotting.”

“That too.”

“All you need is one, but if you want another, I can suggest—”

“I’ll look insincere. I’ve been thinking about how this will appear to others, and since that’s the important aspect, redeeming my black heart, I think a singular approach is best,” Edwin interrupted.

Henley rocked on his heels. “I can see your point. Very well. The supper waltz will begin in a dance or two.” He paused then nodded toward the dance floor. “Hawthorne’s cousin doesn’t have the same theory about singularity. She’s danced with a new partner each set.”

“She has a different plan it would seem, but make no mistake, she is also looking for prey. If she weren’t at the heart of a … situation … she’d be an asset but…”

“Too much additional details,” Henley stated delicately, wisely careful with his words in case others were listening to their conversation.

“Agreed.”

Edwin watched as she danced the cotillion. Her eyes never left her partner, as if attempting to make him feel singled out, special, captivating. It was an excellent performance, the way she smiled, but not too wide, and danced with enough enticement but not seductively. It was flawless, except for the fact he could see right through her machinations. Knowing the story behind her presence in London made everything tainted because her intentions were clear: find a redeemer.

By the looks of it, she’d have her pick by the end of the season, perhaps the end of the week. He was thankful for that boon. It would only benefit his sister and brother-in-law to have the whole sordid mess of her parentage erased by a noble name. As if sensing his attention, she glanced across the ballroom and met his gaze.

Edwin didn’t look away; he wasn’t guilty or unwilling for her to notice. Rather, he nodded once, as if applauding her efforts.

She blinked, then continued the dance steps, moving around a partner, then before switching back, she gave him a quick smile.

Sometimes kindred spirits recognized each other.

And sometimes, like called to like.

And they were certainly of one mind—or goal. Odd that.