The challenge in her voice was unmistakable—sharp, inviting—but Heath merely smirked, offering nothing beyond idle amusement.
“A dance,” he echoed, measured and unhurried. “Nothing more.”
Then, as if summoned by misfortune, a voice rang through the din.
“Sophia! There you are!”
The Earl of Harrow shouldered between them, his arrival slicing through the moment with the grace of a blunt blade. Sophia’s expression soured, but Heath remained unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” Harrow sputtered, eyes flashing as he turned to his daughter. “Skulking in corners, whispering with men—have you no regard for your betrothed?”
The Earl’s eyes snapped to Heath, and, for a brief moment, he looked like a man who’d just spotted a ghost. Realizing his misstep, he executed a deep, theatrical bow, nearly toppling forward. “Your Grace.”
“Did you imply that my presence with your daughter is an insult, Harrow?” Heath inquired, watching as the Earl of Harrow paled.
“No, no, Your Grace! Not at all,” Harrow stammered. “I beg your pardon. It’s simply that—well—Ihaveheard certain rumors?—”
“What kind of rumors?” Heath stepped forward, his smile sharp, his patience thinning.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Your Grace, mere chattel among idle lords and ladies of the ton?—”
The Earl suddenly paused as Heath took a step forward, looming over him.
“What rumors, Harrow?” Heath’s refusal to use Harrow’s title was a tactical move. He knew the older man would not call him out on it.
The Earl swallowed hard. “The Lord Chancellor suggests that perhaps you and his wife?—”
A short, knowing chuckle escaped Heath. Ah, of course—another scandal, another whisper wrapped around his name. A dance, a dinner, a passing remark—enough to stir suspicion. He had neither the inclination nor the need to explain himself.
“I trust a man of your wisdom does not place faith in idle gossip. That would be rather… unbecoming.”
Harrow fidgeted under his stare. “O-Of course not, Your Grace! A mere lapse, nothing more.”
Heath inclined his head, gaze steady. A lapse, indeed. And yet the weight of Harrow’s doubts still lingered, revealing more than the man intended.
Harrow hurried to correct himself. “In fact, we would be honored if Your Grace joined us for dinner this week?—”
“Dinner?” Heath raised a brow. “Aren’t you concerned I might corrupt your daughter’s morals simply by entering your home?”
The Earl sputtered, laughing too loudly. “Your Grace, you do jest!”
Scrambling for composure, he turned to Sophia. “You mustn’t keep your betrothed waiting.”
“Yes, Father,” Sophia murmured, throwing one last flirtatious glance at Heath before vanishing toward the ballroom.
Heath stepped closer to Harrow. “I have little time for dinners, Harrow. However, I would appreciate an invitation to the House of Lords’ private gatherings.”
The Earl stiffened. “But of course! Your Grace is one of our most esteemed members?—”
“Then why have I been excluded of late?” Heath’s smile remained, but its edges turned razor-sharp.
Harrow’s unease deepened. “Your Grace, truly—those meetings are merely trivial discussions?—”
“And yet, these trivial matters seem to carry increasing significance,” Heath countered.
He let the silence stretch. The man’s throat bobbed.
“In any case, I expect an invitation to those gatherings far more than one to dinner.”
