Page 17 of An Earl Like You (Games Earls Play #6)

“On the contrary, my lord, I certainly will dance with him. I’ve already said I would, and I won’t go back on my promise. I realize you’re not fond of Lord Egerton, but?—”

“I’m not fond of him because he’s a villain, Hattie. I won’t have you?—”

“It’s nothing to do with you.” She snatched her elbow out of his grip. “In any case, it’s a dance, Lord Windham, not a betrothal.”

Cass dragged a hand through his hair, setting the dark strands on end, and for an instant, with his hair freed from its ruthlessly fashionable style, she saw a hint of the boy she’d once loved so well.

He was still there, hiding underneath Lord Windham’s cool, smooth surface, and even that brief glimpse of him made her heart flutter in her chest. “It’s not as if I’ll be in any danger in a crowded ballroom, Cass.”

“I don’t like it, Hattie. I don’t like it at all.”

She shrugged. “You might have prevented it, you know.”

He gave her a sulky look. “I don’t see how.”

“It’s quite simple, Lord Windham. You might have asked me to dance yourself.”

She didn’t wait for his reply but turned on her heel and marched after Lady Fosberry and her sisters, but she couldn’t quite smother a rush of satisfaction at his speechlessness.

Yes, a little humility would do very well for the handsome, elegant Earl of Windham.

As soon as they were all safely tucked into the privacy of Lady Fosberry’s carriage, Sarah, who’d never been one to mince words asked, “Who was that awful woman and her equally awful daughter?”

“That’s unkind of you, Sarah.” But Margaret’s scold was half-hearted, and she added, “They were rather dreadful, weren’t they?”

“My dears, you have no idea. I assure you that Lady Tremblay is a plague upon London, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. She’s the scourge of the ton , and her daughter, Lady Laetitia is scarcely any better, though she’s more adept at hiding her vitriol than her mother is.”

“Not that adept.” Sarah fell back against the squabs with a huff. “She looked at Hattie as if she’d happily snatch every hair from her head. She’s very pretty, but I’d wager my best bonnet she has an ugly heart.”

“Yes, it’s rather a dark, withered thing, I’m afraid.” Lady Fosberry darted a glance at Hattie. “If the gossips are to be believed, Lord Windham is considering courting her this season.”

Hattie froze. Had she heard that right? Cass, courting Lady Laetitia?

But that was impossible! Why, not half an hour ago he’d been kissing her most ardently in the lilac walk! What sort of gentleman kissed one lady while intending to soon begin courting another?

And why Lady Laetitia, of all people? Why, Cass had a nerve warning her away from Lord Egerton when he was considering courting such a viper as Lady Laetitia!

Was her face as red as the heat in her cheeks hinted it was?

It must have been, because Lady Fosberry hastened to add, “It’s just gossip, and as likely to be nonsense as ton gossip generally proves to be. I believe Lord Windham’s father favored the match.”

“Yes, but he’s dead, isn’t he? I shouldn’t think he’d have much say in it, being as dead as he is.”

“Sarah!” Margaret turned to her sister, but a laugh escaped her before she could gather her breath to scold. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Well, my dears, we’ll cross our fingers that it’s just gossip.” Lady Fosberry squeezed Hattie’s hand. “Perhaps Lord Windham has made some mistakes, but he in no way deserves to be cursed with such an arrogant, disagreeable wife.”

“No, indeed,” Margaret replied, and Sarah nodded in agreement.

But Hattie didn’t say a word.

It was true, what Lady Fosberry said. Cass deserved much better than Lady Laetitia, but even in death, his father still had a hold on him. The question was, how far beyond the grave would the late Earl of Windham’s wickedness reach?

Cass’s future happiness might depend on the answer.

She turned to gaze out the window, her head spinning as London rolled by on the other side of the glass.

“What the devil is going on between you and Lady Harriet, Windham?”

Of all the questions Hayward might have asked, he’d landed on the one Cass had no idea how to answer. So, he lied. “Not a thing. I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hayward.”

“No? That’s odd, Windham. Indeed, the circumstances say otherwise.”

“What circumstances?”

Hayward held up his hand and began counting points off on his fingers.

“Let’s see, shall we? First, you and Lady Harriet were the last to emerge from the lilac walk.

Second, when you did emerge at last, she had the pink-cheeked charm of a lady who’d just been kissed.

But I suppose you don’t know anything about that, do you? ”

Not only had Hattie looked as if she’d just been kissed, but quite thoroughly, at that. A bolt of pure lust shot through him at the memory of her reddened, kiss-swollen lips and hazy blue eyes, her slightly mussed golden hair.

What would that glorious hair look like tumbling down her back? Or spread across a pillow. She was so lovely, so tempting?—

“Well, Windham? What have you got to say for yourself?”

There was no use denying it. Hayward could always tell when he was lying. “Do you think Lady Fosberry noticed it?”

“Of course, she did. Nothing gets past Lady Fosberry. Fortunately for you, I doubt anyone else did, and a damned good thing, too. For God’s sake, Windham, do you care nothing for the lady’s reputation?”

“I do, very much,” he said quietly. “She…she matters a great deal to me, Hayward.”

He cared more for Hattie than he’d ever cared for anyone, but he hadn’t behaved as if he did, had he?

He could trust Hayward to keep his secrets, but if Lady Fosberry had noticed, others might have, as well.

Good God, he must have gone mad, kissing her as he had.

What if someone had happened to see them?

Hayward’s expression softened, but he wasn’t yet prepared to let it go. “You have a perverse way of showing it, Windham. Lady Laetitia wasn’t at all pleased, and neither was her mother.”

“No. I’m certain they expected me to escort Laetitia through the lilac walk.”

“Indeed, and neither of them are the sort to take disappointment lightly, something you may want to consider before you make up your mind to court her, Windham.”

“I’ve considered it.” He’d done little else but consider it. “My father?—”

“Your father is dead, Windham.” Hayward said flatly. “You owe him nothing. Certainly not a lifetime of misery.”

Cass glanced at his friend in surprise. Hayward had never been an admirer of his father’s, but neither had he stated his opinion so bluntly before.

Hayward sighed. “I beg your pardon, Windham. I only mean to say you needn’t marry for money. But since we’re speaking so frankly, what was that strange business with Egerton earlier? You nearly tore his head off when he tried to take Lady Harriet’s arm.”

“It’s quite simple, Hayward. Egerton’s a villain, and I don’t want him anywhere near Lady Harriet or her sisters.”

“Weren’t you friends with him at one time?”

“Yes. I knew him at Eton, and later at Oxford.”

“Go on then, Windham. What’s Egerton done?”

Plenty, and every year more shocking than the last. Egerton, like so many men of the ton was not the proper gentleman he pretended to be.

But then Cass was no proper gentleman, either. If he’d had any real honor, Egerton’s drinking, gaming and casual cruelty would have been enough to end their friendship.

It hadn’t been. But then Egerton had done something Cass could never forgive. “He threatened Lady Harriet.”

Hayward stared at him. “ Threatened her?”

“Not directly. He didn’t know it was her he was threatening. It’s a trifle complicated.”

“I have time.” Hayward lounged back against the squabs and waved his hand. “Proceed.”

“Lady Harriet and I kept in touch after I left Kent. We carried on a correspondence.”

Hayward blinked. “You carried on a correspondence with a lady to whom you’re not betrothed?”

“Yes. It went on for twelve years.”

“Twelve…good God, Windham. Are you mad?”

Perhaps he was, a bit. At least, he was when it came to Hattie. “I had dozens of letters from her. No, hundreds. I kept them locked in my desk, but one night after drinking until the wee hours of the morning at White’s, Egerton joined me at my townhouse for a glass of brandy. I fell asleep.”

“Go on.”

“When I woke I found Egerton sitting in my chair, his feet on my desk, happily reading through the letters Lady Harriet had sent me.”

Hayward shot upright. “You mean to say he went through your private papers?”

“Yes. The letters were locked in my desk, but I’d carelessly left the key out, and he helped himself to it. He was vastly entertained by the letters. He even congratulated me on, as he put it, having ‘a bird in the hand.’”

“That bloody villain! Was he…wait. Were the letters signed? Does Egerton know Lady Harriet is the one who?—”

“No. She signed them with a childhood nickname. Egerton doesn’t know Lady Harriet is the lady who wrote to me, but if he should ever find out?—”

“He’ll use it against her, as sure as we’re both sitting here. The man has no conscience.”

“None whatsoever. To make matters worse, Egerton’s gaming has caught up to him. He’s on the verge of ruin. He’s come to London for the season because he must marry, and he must marry well.”

“And here’s Lady Harriet—sweet, beautiful, richly-dowered and innocent to the ways of London. Christ, Egerton must be salivating to get his hands on her. Do you think he would?—”

“Use the letters to try and force her to marry him? I’m certain of it.”

“But surely Lady Harriet wouldn’t agree to?—”

“She would if she believed it would affect her sisters’ prospects if her own reputation was damaged.” Hattie would never permit Margaret and Sarah to suffer for any action of hers. “Whatever else happens, Egerton can’t ever find out Lady Harriet is the lady from my letters.”

“We’ll make certain of it, Windham. I promise it. Is there anything else?”

“No. That’s the whole of it.”

Or nearly the whole of it. He’d held one thing back. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud, not even to Hayward.

He hadn’t wanted to stop writing to Hattie. It had nearly killed him to do it, but the day after Egerton had found those letters, he’d promised himself he’d cut all ties with her.

He wasn’t good for Hattie. If the disaster with Egerton proved nothing else, it proved that. She hadn’t been to London for years, yet her association with him had still put her reputation at risk.

It wouldn’t happen a second time.

Hattie was the one pure, bright spot in a lifetime of excess and vice.

She was the only thing he’d ever done right.

He wouldn’t see her hurt. Not by Egerton, and especially not by himself.