"No," she agreed."It's my life.Mine.And I would like, occasionally, to be consulted about how it is lived."
His mouth compressed.For a moment, she glimpsed past the sternness to the strain beneath.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"I know."She softened, just a little."But you are protecting me from the wrong things."
He blinked."Redford is exactly the sort of wrong thing you need protection from."
"You don't know him," she said.
"I know enough."His gaze flicked toward Redford, who was laughing with Niall, Louisa, and Alexandra."He has never taken anything seriously.Not his prospects, his reputation, or the ladies he amuses himself with.He's not a man who marries."
The words landed hard and she inhaled a steading breath."He's your friend," she said."You've played cards with him for years."
"Yes," Harrison said."And I have heard him declare, more than once, that he will never offer for a lady.That it would be cruel to saddle anyone with himself, that he prefers to keep his friendships and flirtations unentangled."
Esme's fingers tightened around her glass.
"Even recently.At Tattersall's last week, he said..."Harrison broke off, shaking his head."It doesn't matter.Redford will not marry.Not you.Not anyone.If you tie your reputation to his, you'll be the one who pays the price."
She swallowed.
"What do you suggest?"she asked.
"Distance," he said simply."Speak to him when you must.Dance with him if circumstances demand it.But don't allow yourself to be part of his...games.You deserve more than a man who treats life as a series of wagers."
He touched her sleeve."You deserve someone who will stay."
The remark was so unlike Harrison that for a long moment she could only stare.
"Like you?"she asked softly.
He smiled."Like someone less dull, ideally.But yes.Someone who will be there when the amusement fades."
He left her then, summoned by Mother and Mrs.Berkeley.Esme stood alone for a moment, the sounds of the party muffled.
Redford will not marry.
She had wanted mischief, companionship, a reprieve.But somewhere along the way, something in her had begun to lean toward him, to imagine how it might feel to have that laughter in her house, to have that hand on her wrist.
Foolish,she thought.You should have known better.
"Esme?"Redford's voice broke through her thoughts."You look as though someone has told you the lemonade is sober."
She turned to face him.
He stood a few paces away, hands empty, cravat slightly loosened.A smear of grass marked his cuff, and a strand of her hair clung to his shoulder, a relic of their collision during the game.
"I dislike lemonade," she said coolly."It's useful only as a delivery mechanism for brandy."
Something in his expression sharpened."Ah.We're inthatmood, are we?"
"What mood is that?"she asked.
"The one where you wield your tongue like a rapier," he said lightly."I ought to have brought armor."
"Perhaps you should have.You do seem determined to insert yourself into dangerous situations."She glanced away.
