Page 40 of A Taste of Miss Honey

He frowned, hesitating as if he had already forgotten who she was.

“Honeywell,” Izzy replied sweetly, wondering if it she would be sent to the Tower if she stabbed him with his own cravat pin.

“Honeywell,” he repeated with a polite nod. “My blood is English, certainly, but I have spent so long abroad that I feel out of place here. English society differs greatly from what I am used to.”

I’ll bet, she didn’t say, remembering the rough men who hung about the Dog and Duck and were said to be part of his gang.

“Indeed. Have you seen much of our lovely country in the time you have been here?”

Though she knew he would not—or could not—admit to anything, she could not help but poke the irritable tiger, despite knowing she’d likely come off worse.

“I have only been in town a few days, as I said, Miss Honeywell. I came directly from Paris.”

“Paris?” she said, with apparent wonder. “How interesting.”

He returned a thin smile.

“But you are not dancing this evening?” she pressed, knowing that whilst he was obviously much stronger than he had been, the wound had been severe enough that any exertion would likely still give him pain.

“I arrived late, Miss Honeywell, and Hartwell immediately sought my attention. I have not yet had the opportunity to secure any dances.”

His reply was smooth enough, but she felt certain he was having to work hard to keep his impassive expression in place. She ought to let it alone, to let him alone, but she had come to London to find him, and here he was, right in front of her. Yet he might as well have been miles away for all the good it did her. It was too provoking for words.

Hartwell cut in before she could think of a way to vex him enough to let something slip. “Well, now’s your chance. I’m sure Miss Honeywell will honour you if you ask her nicely.”

Midwinter, or Boreas, or whoever the hell he was, shot an incinerating glance at his friend, whose eyes twinkled with interest. Clearly, Hartwell was not as oblivious to the undercurrents as he made out.

Izzy, who was not about to pass up the opportunity to speak with him alone, scanned her dance card for the one that offered her the best opportunity of doing so. “I shall pencil you in for the minuet.”

The stately procession up and down the room that was part of the dance would give her the best opportunity she would get this evening. She reached for the little pencil that dangled from the dance card by a silken string. If she had not glanced up before she began to write, she might not have seen the look in his eyes as it settled on the ring she wore. His ring.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and he looked away a fraction too quickly.

With a surge of triumph coursing through her, Izzy took her time writing his name. “There. All done. I shall look forward to it, Mr—?” She hesitated, frowning theatrically before allowing her face to smooth out into a wide smile. “Ah, yes, Mr Midwinter.”

He did not react, merely inclined his head to her and then bowed politely to the company. “If you will excuse me.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Izzy watched him go. Her skin was cold and clammy, and yet her cheeks burned. She thought she might be sick.

“Whatever is the matter with you?”

Izzy turned as Clemmie took her a little aside, her blue eyes at once annoyed and yet filled with concern.

“Nothing.” Izzy shook her head and tried to batten down the emotions threatening to burst inside her.

“Love, we both know that’s not true.” Clemmie’s voice was gentle now, and her expression softened as she reached out and took Izzy’s hand.

“Don’t be nice to me,” Izzy warned her. If Clemmie was nice to her, she would weep, and that would be a fine first impression to make.

Clementine nodded, understanding at once and letting go of her hand. Instead, her voice was brisk. “How do you know him?”

“Who?” Izzy asked dully, her stomach churning as she realised her odd behaviour would need explaining.

“Don’t be obtuse and don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. You know very well who I mean. Mr Midwinter.”

“I don’t know him,” she said, honestly she supposed, which made her want to cry all the more.