Page 30 of Lady Like

Alexander pushes his mop of blond hair from his face, smile momentarily illuminated when a waiter passes the entrance of the hallway with a lamp. “Did I startle you?”

“I should say so, you bellend. Jesus.” Harry presses a hand to her heart.

He catches her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts her face to the light. “I saw you sitting across the way, and when you got up I thought, Wouldn’t it be a lark to surprise Harry?”

“You are fortunate I’m a bottle deep, or I might have broken your nose,” Harry replies flatly. “What are you doing here? Besides pulling unsuspecting girls into dark corners. How many women have you tried that on, by the by?”

“Tonight? Only you.” Alex leans into her again, and Harry, whose still-slamming heart has left her feeling less than charitable, steps away. Alexander catches himself against the wall behind her. His coat falls open and a few stray shillings fall from his pocket.

“Are you gambling?”

Alexander grins, scooping up the coins. “A bit.”

“A bit?” Harry hefts the pocket of his coat between her hands. It jingles like a Morris dancer. “You’re going to fall through the floor. Come buy me a drink if you’re having such a good night.”

“Or what if we had a quick knock and then get back to our respective parties? I’m loath to leave this game.”

“Unless it’s for a stroke?”

“Precisely.” He grabs her breast through her shirt, squeezing it like he’s testing a fruit for ripeness. “Come on, Harry, just a quick go.”

“Not now—I’m here with my brother. And Miss Sergeant should be joining us soon. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Well then, I’ll have to buy you both a drink.” He kisses Harry on the cheek. “How’s Matthew handling for you? Think you’ll be ready for the Derby?”

“You’d know if you ever bothered to show up to training.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been occupied.”

“With what?”

“Let’s ride tomorrow,” he says instead of answering, and loops an arm around her waist. “Just you and I. Come to mine after luncheon?”

“God, Alex, your breath.”

“All right, you harpy.” He bites her shoulder, then pushes her playfully back into the hall. “Show me your box. I promise I won’t tell Collin we’ve a date for tomorrow.”

Harry had been reaching behind her to take his hand, but stops at the sound of her brother’s name, and turns back to Alexander. “You’ve spoken to Collin? When?”

“He introduced himself at the Majorbanks’s ball and we’ve gone out a few times since.

He said he wanted to know the fellow his sister had designs on.

He’s an interesting man. Asked me all sorts of questions.

I wish you’d told me what he does.” He reaches for her, but Harry bats him away.

Alexander frowns. “What’s the matter? We can go to mine now, if you’d rather.

I won’t talk to your brother. Or Miss…” He trails off, struggling to conjure the name.

“The blonde, yes? The small one who looks like a doll? Harry, what’s the matter? Where are you going?”

But Harry is already storming away. “I need some air.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Who knows? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Harry, don’t go. Harry!”

Harry pushes through the crowd toward the exit. She doesn’t realize how hot she’s grown until the cool evening air strikes her face and she stops at the gate, breathing heavily.

Of course Collin had to stick his nose in her business just so he could turn it up in judgment, after she had asked him to trust her on this and stay away from the duke.

Of course he’d have sought out Alexander—how foolish she was for even giving her brother the duke’s name!

And of course, now he will find Alexander wanting in some way, as he’s always found everything about Harry wanting.

Why couldn’t he have trusted her judgment, just this once, or at least pretended to?

Rather than seeking out Alexander and making her business his?

He was always so certain he knew what was best for her, when, in truth, he doesn’t know her at all.

She slumps back against the wall as, somewhere above her, chimes strike the hour. She presses her hands to her flushed cheeks.

“Hello there.”

Harry straightens, turning sharply, to find Emily Sergeant, in an embroidered dress with a shawl draped elegantly over her shoulders. Harry runs a quick hand through her hair, like a stray lock might be the thing that betrays her distress rather than everything else about her. “Miss Sergeant.”

“I thought I was meant to meet you at the clock.” Her smile fades as she looks Harry up and down. “Is something the matter?”

Harry considers deferring—there is no need for Emily to know their business, and if she delves too far into this explanation, she’ll have to concede her own marital designs on the duke she has assured Emily she has no interest in.

“My brother is being an ass,” she says simply.

“But it’s no matter. Go in without me—I’ll give you the box number. ”

“Are you coming?”

“Not just now. I need to stand out here until I can be civil.” Harry sticks her hands into her pockets and balls them into fists around the material.

“I was considering leaving, though I understand the bind that would put you in as a lady unchaperoned. Sorry, I’m being…

” She runs a hand through her hair again, takes a steadying breath, trying to shake off her anger like rain from a coat.

“Let’s go inside and forget any of this happened. ”

“Or we can leave,” Emily says.

“Leave?”

“Go back to my cousin’s.”

The invitation is so surprising Harry almost laughs. “And do what?”

“Have a quiet night in.”

“I am not made for quiet,” Harry says. Her anger will only get louder if she’s made to sit with it in silence. At least the noise and shine of the Garden would be a distraction.

“I’m sure you can bear a single night away from the demimonde.” Emily takes Harry by the arm, leading her gently back toward the street. “Come, it isn’t far. And it will be quiet. Well, except for the baby.”

“I’m sure it can’t be worse than Collin’s squalling.”

Emily shakes her head, smile twisting her lips. “Hateful.”