The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

“But where is Pru?” Honor asked.

“Oh, darling, you know your sister. She wouldn’t dream of coming in the main entrance with a muddied hem. She’ll be down shortly.”

“You are well, madam?” Augustine asked. “Feeling quite yourself and all that?”

“Yes, of course I am! Who else would I feel?” She laughed roundly at her jest.

“I thought so,” Augustine said confidently. “I was just saying to Honor that I thought her concern for your fatigue was perhaps overly cautious, as I found you to be perfectly fine this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes, so much to do!” her mother exclaimed, apropos of nothing.

“Shall we change gowns, Mamma?” Honor asked, her heart racing madly. She dared not look at George, dared not see the truth in his eyes.

“Oh, we must, mustn’t we? It won’t do to continue on in such a state.”

“Then I shall surrender you to your daughter’s care,” George said smoothly. He bowed, lifting his head and catching Honor’s eye so subtly, she wasn’t even certain of it. There it was again, that unholy urge to throw herself into his arms, to bury her face in his collar, feel his breath in her hair and on her skin, the strength of him surrounding her, protecting her from awful truths.

She linked her arm through her mother’s. “Shall we go up?” she asked, and led her away before her mother said or did anything that might surprise anyone.

*

FINNEGAN HAD PRESSED George’s formal tails and laid them out, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. George didn’t want to know whose bed that randy bastard might be visiting.

He took his time at his toilette. The thought of another ball, another night of crowded rooms and the scent of a woman teasing him and making him want, did not appeal. But his feelings for Honor could not be put down as he wished. He could not leave Longmeadow without seeing her, without looking into her eyes once more, without remembering those moments on the viewing balcony and feeling the swell of desire in him, the craving to slide inside her and possess her completely.

Where did this unholy yearning end?

He thought of Lady Beckington and the burden of her madness that was now resting on Honor’s shoulders. He’d discovered Lady Beckington and Prudence on the edge of the lake—Lady Beckington was laughing wildly at a pair of ducks who were seeking food from her hand...food she didn’t have. Her madness made his desires even more impossible—Honor would need to marry someone who could protect her mother. How could he? At present, he couldn’t say if he would have any funds at all by the end of the year.

George shook his head, angry with himself for having skated onto a very thin patch of ice. Each step brought him closer to falling through, sinking into the murky depths of the dark, cold waters of his desires. Unwanted, unanswered, impossible desires.

He was late to the ball; the dancing had begun. He stood in the back, watching the dancers, lost in thought.

“It would seem we find ourselves alone again, Mr. Easton.”

He was startled by the sound of Miss Hargrove’s voice; he hadn’t noticed her approach and had no idea how long she’d been there. “How fortuitous,” he said, smiling at her.

She cocked her head to one side, studying him, her brown eyes dancing. “Is everything all right? You seem a bit subdued this evening.”

“Do I?”

Her smile deepened. “Perhaps the loss of one’s fortune puts a damper on one’s ardor.”

George blinked with surprise.

“I mean only that you are generally rather eager to seduce me. Perhaps tonight, your mind is on other things.”

His gaze drifted to her mouth, sliding slowly and deliberately down to her décolletage. At any other time in his life, he would have been attracted to a woman as handsome and coy as Monica Hargrove. Even in this moment, he was the tiniest bit captivated by his prey, in teaching her a thing or two about disparaging a man’s fortune as she’d just done. But a damnably fine pair of blue eyes suddenly shimmered in his mind’s eye, and it occurred to him that he could at least do this for Honor. He could at least lure this woman away from Honor’s troubles.

He touched Miss Hargrove’s hand. “Have you been listening to rumors, love?”

Without shifting her gaze from his face, she laced her fingers with his. “Perhaps one or two. Have you?”

He smiled. “One or two.”

She laughed lightly and dropped her hand. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mr. Cleburne, sir?” she said pleasantly, and looked past George. He glanced over his shoulder, saw a thin man with a pleasant countenance standing awkwardly aside.

“Mr. Cleburne is the new vicar here at Longmeadow. Mr. Cleburne, may I present Mr. Easton?”

George nodded. “How do you do?”

“A pleasure, sir,” Cleburne said.