This time Ned did laugh. Quite heartily. When he finally settled down, he said, "Your Dunford is quite a rake, and he is a rather nice chap. A bit domineering at times, but nice nonetheless."

Henry's face turned to stone. "First of all, he is not 'my' Dunford. And more importantly, he isn't nice at all."

Ned immediately sat up a little straighter. He didn't think he had ever met anyone who didn't like Dunford. It was exactly why he was so successful at being a rake. He was utterly charming unless one managed to get him really angry, and then he was deadly.

Ned gave Henry a sideways glance and wondered if she'd gotten Dunford really angry. He'd wager she had.

"Say, Henry, are you busy this afternoon?"

"I suppose I ought to be home to receive callers."

"Nonsense. They'll want you more if they think you're not available."

She rolled her eyes. "If I could find a nice man, I wouldn't have to play these games."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll probably never know, as I don't think there exists a man as nice as you want."

Except Dunford, Henry thought sadly. Before he'd turned so cruel. She remembered him at the dress shop in Truro. Don't be shy, minx...Why on earth would I laugh? How could I give that dress to my sister when it looks so utterly charming on you? But he didn't have a sister. He'd brought her to the dress shop just to make her feel better. All he had wanted to do was help her build her self-confidence.

She shook her head. She would never understand him.

"Henry?"

She blinked. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, Ned. I was wool-gathering, I suppose."

"Would you like to go for an excursion? I thought we might make a round of the shops, pick up a trinket or two."

Her eyes focused on his face. He was grinning boyishly, his bright eyes expectant. Ned liked her. Ned wanted to be with her. Why didn't Dunford? No, don't think of that man. Just because one person rejected her didn't mean she was wholly unlovable. Ned liked her. She had sat here at breakfast just being herself and Ned had liked her just fine. And Billington had liked her the night before. And Belle certainly did—and so did her parents.

"Henry?"

"Ned," she said decisively, "I would love to spend the day with you. Shall we be off now?"

"Why not? Why don't you collect your maid and meet me in the foyer in fifteen minutes?"

"Let's try for ten."

He gave her a jaunty salute.

Henry hurried up the stairs. Maybe this trip to London wouldn't turn out to be a complete disaster after all.

A half mile away, Dunford was lying on his bed, nursing a hellish hangover. He was still dressed in his evening clothes, much to his valet's profound consternation. He'd barely drunk anything at the ball, he'd come home nauseatingly sober. Then he'd proceeded to down almost an entire bottle of whiskey, as if the drink could expunge the evening from his memory.

It didn't work.

Instead, he stank like a tavern, his head felt as if it had been run over by the entire British cavalry, and his bedclothes were a mess from the boots he hadn't managed to take off the night before.

All because of a woman.

He shuddered. He'd never thought he'd get it this bad. Oh, he'd seen his friends topple, one by one, bitten by that bug they call marriage, all nauseatingly in love with their spouses. It was insane, really—no one married for love, no one.

Except his friends.

Which had led him to wondering. Why not him? Why couldn't he settle down with someone about whom he actually cared? And then Henry had virtually been dropped in his lap. One look in those silver eyes, and he should have known not even to try to fight it.

Well, maybe not, he amended. He wasn't so hung over that he couldn't admit it hadn't quite been love at first sight. Certainly these feelings had not begun until sometime after the pigpen incident. Perhaps it had been in Truro, when he'd bought her the yellow dress. Maybe that was when it had started.

He sighed. Hell, did it really matter?

He stood up, moved to a chair by the window, and stared aimlessly at the people walking up and down Half Moon Street. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do now? She hated him. If he hadn't been so damned set on playing a bloody hero, he could have married her twice by now. But no, he had to bring her to London, had to insist she be allowed to meet all of the ton's eligible gentlemen before she made any decisions. He had to push her away and push her away and push her away, all because he was afraid he couldn't keep his hands off her.

He should have just ravished her and hauled her off to the altar before she had a chance to think straight. That's what a real hero would have done.

He stood abruptly. He could win her back. He just had to stop acting like such a jealous bastard and start being nice to her again. He could do that.

Couldn't he?

Chapter 16

Apparently he couldn't. Dunford was walking up Bond Street, intending to purchase a bouquet at a florist before heading to Grosvenor Square to call on Henry.

Then he saw them. Henry and Ned, to be precise. Damn it, he had told her very specifically to stay away from the young Viscount Burwick. Henry was just the sort of young lady Ned would find fascinating and probably utterly necessary to his establishment of a rake's reputation.

Dunford hung back, watching them as they peered into the window of a bookshop. They appeared on excellent terms. Ned was laughing at something Henry was saying, and she was poking him playfully in the arm. They looked quite disgustingly happy together.

Suddenly it seemed quite logical that Henry would set her cap for Ned. He was young, handsome, personable, and rich. Most importantly, he was the brother of Henry's newfound best friend. Dunford knew the Earl and Countess of Worth would just love to welcome Henry into the family.