Page 91 of The Language of Love

“She’s hailing a hackney,” Henry pointed out, wishing the man would stop yapping and keep his eyes on Annis.

“I see ‘er, guv.”

Henry sat back and watched the streets flicker past. Did he feel like a bit of a rat following her?

Perhaps. But then she had lied to him immediately after promising there would be no more secrets between them. Truly, the woman was the world’s worst liar. He hated it when people lied to him almost as much as he hated when people kept secrets from him.

Not that any of that excused what he was doing.

Henry sighed; it wasn’t yet two o’clock, and he’d already had a busy day. It had been damned uncomfortable, too. His second meeting with Lady Sedgwick—which he hadn’t believed could be more uncomfortable than the first—was not an hour of his life that he’d care to repeat.

If he’d believed that Prinny’s stamp of approval would make the woman forgive and forget his deception, he’d been sorely mistaken.

“Thanks to our Regent, you will encounter nothing but red carpets wherever you go, my lord. I hope you realize how fortunate you are. In the future, if you do not care for society’s blessing for yourself, at least think of your wife and children.”

Yes, Lady Sedgwick knew how to shame a man while plying him with tea and biscuits.

But she was right; Henry had behaved like an ass, and it was his duty to clean up the mess. Thanks to the Prince Regent—the nominal leader of Great Britain—and his juvenile sense of humor, sorting out the mess would be considerably less unpleasant than it could have been.

His penance would be more misery of the kind he’d endured for weeks: vapid social functions. But as angry as he still was with her—so he’d lied to her about not being angry. What of it? —he would enjoy watching her take part in at least a few events of the Season while well-dressed.

Henry’s feelings toward her seemed to change every five minutes. Just when he’d think that she deserved pretty things and the homage of her peers, he’d recall how she’d kept both him and Mr. Norburg on her string.

Lurching from adoration to anger about things in the past was not comfortable. He was a man on the far side of thirty, not a child, and he knew it behooved him to look beyond his displeasure. Soon, they would be married and would live together until one of them died. He’d been enjoying her company a great deal before he’d discovered that she was planning to marry for money. Now he could enjoy her company for the rest of his life.

The carriage slowed, and he saw they’d gone all the way to the financial district.

“She’s gettin’ out ahead, guv,” the driver said, leaning to the side so Henry could see the road ahead of them, where Annis was paying the driver.

“Pull up closer,” Henry said.

Once they’d come to a halt, Henry watched her enter a building that had several brass plaques beside the door. It was some sort of office for solicitors or men of business, judging by the look of the place and the location.

Once she’d disappeared into the building, Henry hopped out. “Wait for me,” he said to the driver, tossing him a coin that made the man smile.

It only took him a few minutes to discern the office she’d gone into belonged to Norman Pears, Solicitor and Man of Affairs.

Henry returned to the hackney and climbed inside

“What next?” the driver asked him.

“Now we wait,” Henry said.

If Annis insisted on withholding the truth from him, perhaps Mr. Norman Pears could be convinced to clear matters up.