Page 33 of Forgetting the Earl
“How will you do it? Dismiss him after a dance?”
“He doesn’t dance, at least, not any longer. I think you’re missing the point I’m trying to make.”
Emmie tapped her mouth with her forefinger. “It would be perfect to watch him limp around you. Maybe have him bring you punch and fling it in his face? Then decry him for not being a man? That will be lovely.”
Honora sent her cousin a sharp look. Emmie’s dislike of Southwell had evolved into hatred, the sort that Tarrington practiced. Her dislike was a direct result of having consoled Honora over what had happened, and Emmie’s own past.
“You’re a good friend, Emmie. The best.” Honora took Emmie’s hand, squeezing her fingers. “I hope you know how much I love you.”
“I do.” Emmie’s smile froze on her face, her excitement fading. “You aren’t going to do it. Oh, Honora.” Her cousin sat back against the squabs, disbelief on her features. “You’ve fallen for him again, haven’t you? He’susingyou. Why can’t you see that? For all you know, you are part of another wager with Tarrington.”
Hadn’t Honora considered that very thing herself?
“Don’t come to me weeping when he humiliates you again,” Emmie said as Lady Trent’s house came into view. “Which he will. You’re making a huge mistake.”
Honora stepped out of the carriage. “It is mine to make.”
Chapter Eleven
Honora wandered throughthe crowd at Lady Trent’s, searching out the tall, lean gentleman leaning on a cane, but there was no Southwell to be found. She knew, by the admiring glances cast in her direction, that the striped silk gown, one shade deeper than the jade of her eyes, had been an inspired choice. The neckline was somewhat indecent, showing a good portion of her bosom. Once, before she’d felt beautiful, showing off her skin had been a novelty, as had the admiring looks her bosom garnered. Now she only cared that one man appreciated her appearance.
Gideon would love her in this gown. At least, she hoped he would. Emmie’s warnings still rang in Honora’s ears as she made her way around the perimeter of the room, alone. Her cousin had stomped off the minute they’d arrived, probably to terrorize a debutante or servant that crossed her path.
“Still so handsome, though I do wish he’d cut his hair.” A feminine sigh caught Honora’s ear. “Pity about the cane. He once danced so beautifully. I had the pleasure some years ago.”
The words stopped Honora in her tracks. She paused, looking at the two women, whose backs were to her. Difficult to discern their identities without seeing their faces. The clipped, snobbish tone was vaguely familiar.
“I’m sure he doesn’t use it for everything.” A fan flapped sharply, along with a giggle. “The Duchess of Denby’s comments in that regard are nothing more than her trying to salvage her pride. She’s been tossing herself in Southwell’s direction for as long as I can remember but to no avail. Poor dear. Now look at her. She’s the most miserable duchess I’ve ever seen. Denby keeps her on a short leash, allowing her very little freedom until she produces an heir. I’m not even sure how she snuck out to see Southwell.”
“Carefully, to be sure.”
Honora turned slightly, catching sight of Anabeth, Duchess of Denby, the girl who’d pretended to be her friend but whose only intention had been to help Tarrington embarrass and humiliate Honora.
Anabeth’s elderly husband stood beside her, looking down his thin nose at all who greeted him. When Anabeth tried to move away to speak to a young lady waving in her direction, Denby’s arm shot out, his hand wrapping around her wrist as if she was an errant child. Or a whipped dog. Honora recognized the misery in her eyes. She’d seen it in her own when Culpepper had been alive.
“Lord Anders,” said the woman in front of Honora, “is all but throwing his daughter at Southwell. But our adventuresome earl doesn’t seem inclined to catch her. I don’t blame him. She’s as dull as dishwater.”
Honora caught a glimpse of the speaker’s profile. Lady Wainwright. She’d been introduced to Honora months ago while walking in the park. She didn’t recognize Lady Wainwright’s friend.
“I understand all Southwell’s attention is taken by Mrs. Culpepper. The two of them—” Lady Wainwright’s fan stopped midflutter as she caught sight of Honora behind them.
“Don’t letmeinterrupt.” Honora gave them both a knowing look. “But I do feel the need to correct you on one point,” she murmured as she sailed past. “He definitely doesn’t require a cane…forthat.”
Lady Wainwright gasped at Honora’s audacity, but Honora paid her no mind. By the end of the evening, her little comment to Lady Wainwright would be all over London. If anyone was to disparage the Earl of Southwell, it would be Honora and no one else.
Finally, Honora saw him, standing just inside the terrace doors. Her pulse ticked up a bit, fluttering softly in her neck.
Southwell gestured with one hand as he spoke to a rumpled-looking giant of a man beside him, Southwell’s movements graceful and sure, no matter the cane at his side. He was so handsome Honora’s breath caught at the sight.
He’d seen her out of the corner of his eye, watching him. The half smile appeared as Southwell’s arm lowered, his free hand stretching out in invitation to her.
Honora didn’t hesitate. If he hurt her this time, she would have only herself to blame. The responsibility was hers alone. Ignoring the snide looks and curious stares, Honora made her way to him, giving all of London the confirmation that she and Gideon were lovers. Not that they were. Not yet.
When his hand closed over hers, peace filled her.
“There you are, Mrs. Culpepper.” He pulled her closer, hiding their clasped hands in the folds of her skirts. “I thought I’d have to hobble through this entire overblown affair to find you. And I mean that kindly. I adore Lady Trent but not events such as these.”
“But exploration and discovery are your strong suits, my lord. You would have been able to find me with little difficulty, I think.”
