Page 1 of The Language of Love

Prologue

1797

Stoke Castle

Yorkshire

Henry hurried as fast as he could down the freezing, gloomy corridor.

Well, as fast as a man with an almost painful erection could hurry.

Man? Ha!

He gritted his teeth and ignored the scoffing laughter of his companion. His imaginary companion.

Nobody else will be your friend, so I’d watch my tone if I were you, my boy …

Henry wasn’t crazy; he knew the voice in his head that abused him every day wasn’t a friend—imaginary or otherwise. It was worse than that: it was his own mind that hurled constant invective and undermined what little self-confidence he managed to generate.

One would hope that if one had to endure a mental companion that it would at least be convivial and supportive.

He snorted softly at the foolish thought, his eyes darting curiously about the corridor as he made his way through the night. This was a part of Stoke Castle that he’d only visited once before, when he’d been a mere lad of seven and had wandered by mistake into the family wing.

The beating he’d received as soon as he’d been apprehended had ensured that Henry avoided this section of the building for nine long years.

But this time was different. This time, he wasn’t wandering into a place where he wasn’t welcome. This time he’d been… invited.

By Julia.

Merely thinking her name made Henry’s already hard cock twitch.

You’d best calm yourself or your exciting evening will be over before it gets started.

Henry scowled but refused to be drawn into a pointless argument. Not only did he always lose, but he was too close to Julia’s room to even think straight.

Ahead was the last turn on his long journey from the servants’ quarters to his uncle’s ward bedchambers.

When Henry reached the door handle marked by a pink ribbon, he paused.

His heart was pounding so loudly that it was astounding the entire house couldn’t hear it. He needed to calm down. If he went to her now, he’d go off all over himself just looking at her.

This was his chance. His one opportunity to prove that he was worthy of her. Lady Julia was not only the daughter of a duke, she was also the most beautiful girl in the history of Britain.

And she wanted him, Henry Singleton—the bastard get of a disgraced younger son and a chambermaid.

He took several deep breaths and then let himself into the room just as she’d instructed.

Henry paused on the threshold and squinted into the chamber beyond, which was even darker than the corridor.

“Come in and shut the door—hurry.”

Henry startled at the loud whisper and did as she bade him, the action cutting off the bit of light from the sconces in the hallway.

“I can’t see anything,” he whispered, even that sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

“Take two steps forward and then turn right and keep walking until you encounter my b-bed.”

Henry smiled to himself when she stammered on the word bed. Until then, he’d been feeling like the only one who was nervous about what they were doing.