Page 59 of The Language of Love

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell that you are protective of him.” In case he does something foolish; something that ends in an unsuspecting woman’s betrothal to a false peer and a meeting at dawn for you.

Of course, Annis didn’t say that.

“Can you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes, I can’t blame you. He’s rather like a child, isn’t he?”

Henry gave a bark of laugher. “Yes, very much so.”

“What do you dislike about the Season most?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“No particular reason.” Yet another lie; she wanted to know everything about him. It frightened her how curious she was about him—even before she’d known his identity.

He grunted and turned back to the road, his jaws flexing as if he were chewing over his words. “I dislike the superficiality and pretension.”

Well, that pretty much summed up the beau monde.

Before she could think of a response, he went on. “Take his lordship, for example.”

“Lord Rotherhithe?”

“Yes. Women are mad for him—even before they exchange a single word with him.” He snorted softly. “All that matters to most of them is that he has money and connections—he could be a blithering idiot or a man who kicks puppies. Or worse.”

“Is there anything worse than a man who kicks puppies?” she teased.

His lips flexed briefly into a smile, but it did not divert him from his point. “None of that matters to the women who want to marry him.”

“What you say is true,” she conceded, “But isn’t it true for the rest of society, too? Not just the beau monde? If his lordship were a wealthy merchant and not a peer, wouldn’t other merchants be jostling to get close to him—to introduce him to their daughters, become his friend? Wouldn’t the same be true if he were, say, a respected servant with a secure, well-paying position? Wouldn’t unwed female servants flock to him? Doesn’t success always attract attention from men and women?”

“Yes, you make an excellent point.” He turned to her, his eyes hard, cold, and greener than usual. “I should have been more precise in what I said, which is that I despise people who use others for their money or status, no matter the social stratum. And I reserve my greatest scorn for those who marry for money.”

Annis could only nod and stare at the oncoming drivers. She had nothing to say to that, since that was exactly what she was planning to do.

***

They spent hours exploring the overgrown gardens and large wilderness at the back of the property.

Henry couldn’t recall having spent such a companionable afternoon with a woman—something that shamed him to admit as much as it surprised him. Had he really grown into such an emotionally stunted man over the years? He didn’t think that he’d always been so… inaccessible. After all, he recalled being friends with a couple of young female servants when he was growing up in Yorkshire.

Had Julia really damaged him so badly that he’d not allowed any other woman to matter to him or become important in his life?

Henry shook the disturbing thought away as he watched Annis take pleasure in the property, which actually belonged to Henry. He’d purchased it only the week before, as an investment. He hadn’t really looked at how charming it was until today, when he’d seen it through her eyes.

It was a pleasure to see her take such enjoyment from this little slice of country. Indeed, he’d gorged himself on watching her, treasuring each moment in a way that left him more than a little uneasy.

They ended their tour of the estate in the bit of woods that separated the property from its neighbor. Annis tilted her head back and turned in a circle, holding out her arms and smiling as she gazed up at the huge elms that surrounded them. “I feel like I’m in a magical forest. It’s so quiet that you’d never know that only a short distance away there are thousands of people.”

It amused Henry how much she resembled a magical fairy creature—Titania, the queen of the fairies, in her natural milieu.

And how do you fit into this story, Henry? You are no fair Oberon, no king to her queen. Are you her ‘rude mechanical,’ Henry? Her mortal lover, Nick Bottom?

Henry scowled at the mental taunting, annoyed with himself for his flights of fancy.

You know you’re smitten when you spout Shakespearian nonsense, old man.