blinked vapidly, not unlike the chit he implied me to be before leaning forward to whisper loudly. “Are you certain that’s wise? What if they don’t let you play?”
“Of course they’ll let me play,” he snarled. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but my pockets are plenty plush.”
I turned my head to smile at a trio of matrons. “Of course they are.”
“They are, you pert piece of baggage!”
One of the matrons gasped at this insult, and they all turned to glare at him. Though I noticed none of them considered coming to my aid when he grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me farther away.
“Listen here, I’m on to a very lucrative enterprise now, and I don’t need some meddling minx and her besotted husband botching it for me.”
“Unhand me, Lord Kirkcowan,” I demanded.
He pulled me even closer, looming over me. “Not until I make myself clear.”
I knew he couldn’t do anything more to me, not in the middle of a corridor filled with people, but my heart kicked in my chest nonetheless. “Unhand me,” I ordered in an even louder voice, tugging sharply against his hold.
“You’re the one who encouraged my wife to leave me, aren’t you?” he hissed. “You put that bloody foolish notion into—”
“I believe the young lady asked you to release her,” a familiar deep male voice intoned behind me. His words sharpened as he crowded even closer to me. “I suggest you do it.”
I didn’t have to turn to see who it was. I had just been searching for him after all, and now here he had found me. Just in time.
Lord Kirkcowan glared at Lord Henry Kerr for the space of but two seconds before abruptly releasing me, nearly flinging me back against Lord Henry’s chest, whose hands lifted to the back of my shoulders to steady me. “Collecting quite the number of swains, aren’t we, Lady Darby,” he sneered before brushing past us.
I flushed at the implication but refused to be goaded into uttering any further protests. When I heard Lord Henry draw breath to do so in my defense, I turned to stay him. “He’s not worth your words. And neither is anyone who listens to him,” I added for the two debutantes slowly strolling past who were not even attempting to conceal the fact that they were eavesdropping. They blushed and moved on.
Lord Henry and I both fell silent, gazing at each other uncertainly. He looked much the same as he had in January—strong and handsome, but with the same air of sadness lingering in his silvery gray eyes. Before, he had still been grieving for Lady Drummond, but I now suspected he was also grieving for his brother John and the fractures John had caused in their family with his actions.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, nodding toward my arm.
I lowered my hand from the spot I’d been rubbing where Lord Kirkcowan had grabbed me, grateful that the crowned sleeves hid any markings, though he had rather wrinkled the fabric. “It’s nothing.”
“Are you certain?” He turned to look over his shoulder. “Because I could fetch Mr. Gage . . .” His voice trailed away, as if just recalling the implication of that statement.
I arched a single eyebrow, inviting him to comment further, but he seemed at a loss for words again. However, I had found mine. “When did you arrive in Edinburgh?”
“Yesterday.”
“I see.”
He shifted his feet, having the grace to flush. “I set out for Edinburgh the moment I returned to Britain,” he hastened to assure me.
“You must have traveled some distance to settle your brother abroad,” I queried leadingly.
But whatever guilt and discomfort Henry was feeling did not goad him into hasty words, and he kept the location of his brother to himself. He took my arm, guiding me toward an alcove along the passage where we might talk with greater freedom without being overheard. “I suppose I should have called on you the moment I arrived . . .”
“As you promised,” I pointed out, my chest tightening with repressed anger.
He nodded. “I know. But there was a letter waiting for me at Bowmont House from Mother, informing me of Miss Drummond’s debut ball this evening. Knowing what you did for Clare, I wondered if you might be attending. And I thought . . . well, I thought that perhaps it would be better to know where things stood, so to speak, before I . . . before I called.”
I stared up at him, fighting the shame