She should have expected it—the effortless charm, the provoking ease with which he made everything seem like a game.
But her pulse still faltered.
She watched as Heath departed, stepping into his carriage with calculated grace, the door closing behind him as the horses stirred forward.
And yet, long after he was gone, she remained standing there.
Her heart pounded—too fast, too uncertain.
Heath unsettled her.
Not only with his words, his touch, or the quiet pull of his presence, but with something deeper.
Something she could not name.
Something whispered that he was hiding something from her.
But what? And why?
Nine
“Ido hope you intend to explain yourself, Heath.”
Percy’s voice carried through the grand drawing room of Heath’s Mayfair residence with effortless amusement, the faintest trace of mock indignation curling at its edges.
He sat sprawled in the chair nearest the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, swirling his brandy with idle elegance.
Heath paused in the doorway, barely allowing his gaze to flicker toward his friend before discarding his gloves onto the polished mahogany side table.
The lingering chill of the evening still clung to the edges of his coat, but it was not the brisk London air that unsettled him—it was something else. Something he refused to name.
The drawing room, adorned in the finest gilt molding and thick velvet drapes, held an air of restrained grandeur. Crystal sconcescast flickering pools of amber light upon deep oak paneling, illuminating the smooth marble hearth that framed the roaring fire.
A place built for power. For legacy. And yet, it felt no less imposing with Percy lounging in it as though he owned it.
Behind Heath, Mr. Granville—his butler and loyal servant to the Woodrey family—entered with quiet efficiency. His stiff posture barely revealed the disapproval he reserved for Percy’s habit of making himself at home uninvited.
He set down a fresh glass of brandy before his master, offering a slow glance toward Heath. “Shall I have supper prepared, Your Grace?”
“No need,” Heath replied, finally stepping forward to take a seat opposite Percy. He accepted the drink with a nod, waiting until Mr. Granville had retreated before turning his attention to his friend.
“Now, Percy. Enlighten me. What grave offense have I committed this time?”
Percy exhaled with exaggerated patience, lifting his glass before speaking. “It is nothing, really. Only that the entirety of London’s esteemed gossips have been made privy to the details of your engagement long before I—a man who has tolerated your many insufferable qualities—was informed.”
Heath merely raised a brow, though his fingers tightened momentarily around the crystal rim of his glass.
“You were at The Velvet Rose when I made the announcement.”
“Ah, yes, but the announcement was merely that—a declaration void of sentiment. Lady Chatsworth, however, has managed to obtain a rather more colorful interpretation of your courtship. Tell me, is it true that your betrothed has already taken a liking to the drapery in your future residence?”
A flicker of dry amusement passed through Heath’s expression. “I expect Lady Chatsworth has more pressing matters to concern herself with.”
“I sincerely doubt it.” Percy’s smile was condescending, yet charming. “In fact, you seem to have become the gossip of the Season. And I, your best friend, can’t even savor the juicy details of it.”
“Maybe that’s because there are no juicy details to savor,” Heath reasoned.
Percy leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp beneath his playful tone. “Perhaps. But I rather suspect she is not the only one trying to decipher this match of yours.”
