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“Liar,” she interrupted, her eyes drifting down to rest upon the telltale bulge in his breeches.
He flushed again, and this time, the purple reached his ears. “Well, I—I…of course I’m capable, but it isn’t pr—”
“I don’t care about being proper anymore. Touch me, Tristan,” she commanded, deliberately using his Christian name. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face up in offering.
Something inside him must have broken free, because there was plenty of ardor in this kiss. Yet she remained unaffected as his lips moved over hers in a patent mimicry of what she herself had done to him only moments ago.
Nothing. Not one heartbeat out of time, not one frisson of desire.
Chadwick withdrew. “It’s no use, is it?”
She remained silent, numbed by the truth.
Releasing her, he ran a shaky hand through his hopelessly mussed hair. “Perhaps if I’d been bolder in the beginning and won your heart…” His lips compressed with resignation. “You should accept Montgomery’s offer. It would be for the best.”
“But you said—”
“I would have loved you, Sabrina. I would have dedicated my whole life to making you happy. But it’s too late for that now.” His brown eyes were infinitely sad and wise.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, filled with regret for having hurt him.
“Don’t apologize, please, or you’ll break my heart all over again,” he said, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “I’ve learned a valuable lesson. If ever I find my heart’s desire again, I won’t hesitate to reach out for it and make it mine.”
Standing on tiptoe, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He didn’t flinch this time. “How I wish things had been different,” she said, looking up at him through a shimmer of fresh tears.
From behind the screen where he’d been reading the papers and drinking what was now his frigid morning tea, Henry fumed.
Miss Woodbine had returned in haste from her morning constitutional to relay the news: she’d just now seen Lord Chadwick and Lady Sabrina kissing beneath the arbor—with great enthusiasm. Everyone was scandalized. Young Chadwick, it seemed, had rallied and retaken the lead for the lady’s hand.
Fists clenched into white-knuckled balls, Henry listened as friendly bets were placed amid the jesting.
“There’ll be a duel before the Season’s out,” one man chuckled. “I’ll put myself down at White’s tomorrow. Fifteen pounds on Montgomery.”
“One can’t really blame her indecision, poor girl,” remarked a sultry, French-accented female voice. “Choosing between two confections can be difficult, after all. Which will she take, I wonder? The sweet or the spice? I prefer spice, myself—far more interesting to the palate.”
“Perhaps. But not everyone has your appetite for it, my dear,” added a voice that Henry recognized as Fairford’s. “I wouldn’t put my money on either of them, if you want my opinion. Neither seems to be to her taste, or she’d have settled by now.”
“Well, I think it’s all terribly romantic,” a high, girlish voice sighed.
“I’ll warrant ‘romance’ has little to do with it, Regina!” the first man guffawed.
“Indeed. I must agree with you, Cunningham. Perhaps young Chadwick isn’t such a duffer, after all,” another gentleman commented wryly. “Ten pounds says the redheads wind up married—and a passel of fiery-haired babes to follow.”
There was a grunt of disagreement from another gentleman. “Montgomery’ll never stand for that, my lad. He’ll retaliate, mark my words. Ten pounds says Montgomery takes the wench.”
Henry knew exactly why she’d done it, and he also knew that no amount of kissing other men would erase last night from Sabrina’s memory. Loath to provide the gossips with further grist, he stayed out of sight until they moved on, and then he went to his chambers to pack. It was time to leave.
“Montgomery!”
He stopped short, his hand on the latch. How he longed to punch the owner of that voice. He quashed the impulse. It wasn’t really the lad’s fault. Chadwick would have to be bloody well dead not to respond to the advances of a woman as beautiful as Sabrina. There was no doubt but that she’d cornered him and instigated their little romantic interlude.
The thought did nothing to improve his mood.
“I’ve just spoken with Lady Sabrina,” said Chadwick. “I came to tell you that I’m withdrawing my suit.”
It was certainly not what Henry had expected him to say. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’ve agreed we are not a good match for one another.”
