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“There isn’t thirty years between us!” Godwin roared.

“I’m in my thirties myself!”

Henrietta put a hand to her heart. She was enjoying herself mightily. “Goodness, I hope I have not insulted you!” She eyed him head to foot. He was as messy as he ever was, hair curling around his shoulders and his shirt all spotted with ink. “You’re absolutely right: I see now that you’re not so old.” She paused, as if doubting her own assessment.

“At any rate, time does have a way of solving this sort of problem, my lord! Just think: in a matter of what? Five years or so? Your lady friend will reach the age of majority and you will be able to ease into this whole difficult business of conversation.”

She took a sip of her wine and offered him a glinting smile full of the pleasure she was feeling. It was such a pleasure to be eating with two grown men, rather than with her stepsister and stepmother. She’d never, ever thought that she would be exchanging delicately insinuating barbs with men. The way Darby’s best friend was gaping at her was almost enough to make her laugh aloud.

“I’m afraid that Lord Godwin is having some difficulty even with this little chat,” she said, turning to her husband.

“Darby, shall we model polite discourse for the poor man?

Now, Lord Godwin, do listen carefully, and perhaps we can explain the Treaty of Paris to you.”

But Rees interrupted. “Damn it if you haven’t done yourself a favor, Darby,” he said with a bark of laughter. Then he leaned across the table and took Henrietta’s hand. While she watched in some amazement, he lifted it to his lips in as gallant an expression of courtesy as she’d ever seen. “You’ve 270 Eloisa

James

surprised me. You’d better call me Rees, by the way. I can’t stand the title.”

She took her hand away and laid it over her heart. “Darby, do revive me in case I swoon. I can feel myself growing younger by the second. The earl is speaking to me. I do believe that I just entered the honorary ranks of courtesan!”

Darby leaned close to her shoulder. “I don’t believe you can truly achieve that title until after this evening, my dear.”

His deep voice pulled her straight from improper humor to a kind of reeling, overheated flush. In fact, she could feel pink stealing up her cheeks as she looked into his eyes. They were wicked. Purely wicked.

On the other side of the table, Rees chuckled. “Damned if I’m not almost envious of you, Darby.”

“Hmmm-hum,” Darby said. He had Henrietta’s hand in his, and raised it to his lips. Funny—when Rees kissed her hand, she felt nothing but a cheerful pleasure, but all Darby had to do was brush his lips across her knuckles and her stomach clenched in a confused, overheated muddle. “Shall we retire, lady wife?”

Henrietta pulled her hand away. “Certainly not! We haven’t even—there’s another course arriving,” she said, in some relief. The innkeeper pushed open the door, waving in footmen carrying a jelly, some apple puffs, and a plate of rout drop cakes. Rees laughed again but thankfully didn’t comment. Once the door closed behind the footmen, he said, “I suppose politeness dictates that I should begin a subject of conversation.”

Henrietta gave him an approving smile. “You see how easy it grows to be!”

He snorted. “How did you survive in the carriage, then? I must say, the idea of traveling with wee Anabel makes my stomach churn. I visited the nursery just after the girls moved to London, and she upchucked on my boots by way of greeting.”

“Oh, it was lovely—” Henrietta said, and stopped. There Fool for Love

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really wasn’t any point to prevarication. “Actually, it was quite desperately horrible.” She cut her apple puff into four precise pieces. “Josie screamed like a demented person, to the point at which I thought she might crack a lung, if that is possible.”

Darby’s warm hand touched her back. “She’s an ungrateful little beast,” he said.

“No, she’s not,” Henrietta said. “She’s just quite—quite miserable. And I don’t know how to help her.”

“I thought Anabel’s stomach was the problem,” Rees said.

“What did Josephine scream about, then?”

Henrietta tried not to think about the warmth of Darby’s hand on her back. “She cried and reminded me that she is a motherless child.”

“So? Tell her you’re her mother now,” Rees said.

“But I’m not her mother,” Henrietta pointed out. “I have informed her that since I’ve married her brother, I will act as her mother. Mr. Bartholomew Batt, a noted expert on child rearing, says that children should not be prevaricated to.”

“That’s rubbish,” Darby said. “I heard far too much truth from my own mother. Just tell Josie you’re her mother, and the end with it.”