A tense line appeared between his eyes.
Fleur clarified. “On account of your playing captain of the dance floor.”
He moved his gaze over her face.
“Then, why say yes?”
A profound tenderness took hold in her chest. That he trusted her enough to ask a question that left him exposed?
“I wanted to dance with you more than I wanted to vex you,” Fleur confided.
Henry gave no outward reaction, and the lack of it leftherfeeling vulnerable and exposed.
If she waited for his rescue, Fleur expected it would take until the Lord came again.
The frost of his speech erased the warmth in her heart. “Markham?”
“What?” she blurted.
“A connection to the Earl of Whitehaven and Marquess of Westerborough will provide the McQuoids access to Westhaven Shipyards.”
“And?” she said with a calm that defied her thundering pulse.
This is why Henry had wanted to dance with her so badly, and why he wanted to know the identity of her potential husband—because of how it pertained toshipping.
“With your family’s affinity for loftier titles, Whitehaven seems the logical match for you,” he commented. “Is it his age you have a problem with?”
He rationalized her options in a matter-of-fact way. It cut like a knife.
A thick fog descended over her head, and she hated the compounded confusion.
“The only problem I have, Your Grace, is with you and how miserable you are determined to make me,” she said through gritted teeth. “For that matter, who I marry and who I love is none of your affair. I wish you the best of luck with your list of broodmares.”
They stopped abruptly in the middle of the dance floor, rescued by the timely end of the waltz. Chests heaving, their heated gazes fastened.
Wordlessly, Hart offered his elbow.
Just as silently, Fleur took it, for she had to; to rebuff him would create a real scandal.
He escorted Fleur to her chair, bowed, and left with her still standing, and it was all she could do to keep from crying.
As it should happen, after Henry’s cold exit, Fleur made a discovery. She shouldn’t have pestered Henry for answers about his future duchess.
All she needed to do was wait and watch, as every guest in Cassia’s ballroom did, as Henry, with commanding strides and clear intent and purpose, cut a path across the ballroom to…
Lady Angela.The daughter of a late duke, whose brother had since inherited the Talbert duchy.
Not a simpering, wilting beauty, but a mature, graceful woman. And, surely not by coincidence, the former betrothed of Fleur’s brother-in-law, Nathan, the Marquess of Winfield.
A lump formed in Fleur’s throat.
She wanted to look away from him and couldn’t. She remained as captivated as the rest of the ton by the regal pair who had captured the ton’s attention.
There couldn’t be a finer match for him in all the world.
Fleur swallowed uncomfortably.
“…The McQuoids are vulgar and crude…”