It was with dread that she mounted the steps to his town house, and it was with even greater dread that she descended them a few minutes later on her way to the carriage. Dunford helped her up, and as she settled onto the soft cushion, she heard him tell the driver, "Go wherever you like. I'll rap when we're ready to be taken back to Grosvenor Square to return the lady."

Henry scooted further back into the corner, cursing herself for her uncustomary cowardice. It wasn't so much that she was scared of a scolding; rather, she feared the impending loss of a friendship. The bond they had forged at Stannage Park was now held together by only a few fragile threads, and she had a feeling that it would be severed altogether that afternoon.

Dunford entered the carriage and sat opposite her. He spoke sharply and without preamble. "I very specifically told you to stay away from Ned Blydon."

"I chose not to follow your advice. Ned is a very nice person. Handsome, personable—a perfect escort."

"That is precisely why I wanted you to keep him at arm's length."

"Are you telling me," she asked, her eyes turning to steel, "that I may not make friends?"

"I am telling you," he ground out, "that you may not consort with young men who have spent the last year going out of their way to become the worst sort of rake."

"In other words, I may not be friends with a man who is almost, but not quite, as bad as you are."

The tips of his ears reddened. "What I am, or rather what you perceive me to be, is irrelevant. I am not the one courting you."

"No," she said, unable to keep a twinge of sadness from her voice, "you are not."

Perhaps it was the hollowness in her voice, perhaps it was simply the fact that there was not the slightest gleam of happiness in her eyes, but Dunford suddenly wanted more than anything to lean over and pull her into his arms. Not to kiss, merely to comfort. He didn't think, however, that she would welcome such an overture. Finally he took a ragged breath and said, "I did not intend to act like such a complete bastard this afternoon."

She blinked. "I... ah..."

"I know. There isn't much you can say that would constitute a suitable reply."

"No," she said dazedly. "There isn't."

"It was only that I had told you very specifically to stay away from Ned, and it appeared you'd made as much of a conquest of him as you had Billington and Haverly. And Tarryton, of course," he added acidly. "I should have realized what he was about once he started grilling me about you at the card table."

She stared at him in amazement. "I don't even know who Tarryton is."

"Then we may truly, count you as a success," he said with a caustic laugh. "Only the Incomparables don't know who their suitors are."

She leaned forward a fraction of an inch, her brow furrowed and her eyes perplexed.

He had no idea what her action meant, so he leaned forward, too, and said, "Yes?"

"You're jealous," she said, disbelief rendering her words barely audible.

He knew it was true, but some little piece of his soul—some very arrogant and very male piece of his soul—balked at her accusation, and he said, "Don't flatter yourself, Henry, I—"

"No," she said, her voice growing louder. "You are." Her lips parted with amazement, and the corners began to curve upward in an openmouthed smile.

"Well, Christ, Henry, what do you expect? You flirt with every man under the age of thirty and at least half of those older than that. You poke darling Ned in the chest, whisper in his ear—"

"You're jealous." She didn't seem able to say anything else.

"Isn't that what you intended?" he spat out, furious with himself, furious with her, furious even with the damned horses pulling his carriage.

"No!" she burst out. "No. I... I just wanted..."

"What, Henry?" he said urgently, placing his hands on her knees. "What did you want?"

"I just wanted to feel somebody wanted me," she said in a very small voice. "You didn't anymore and—"

"Oh, Christ!" He was across the carriage and next to her in less than a second, pulling her into his arms and crushing her against him. "You thought I didn't want you anymore?" he said with a crazy laugh. "My God, Hen, I haven't been able to sleep at night for wanting you. I haven't read a book. I haven't been to a horse race. I just lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying in vain not to imagine you're with me."

Henry pushed against his chest, desperately needing to put some space between them. Her mind was reeling from his incredible statement, and she just couldn't reconcile his words with his actions of late. "Why did you keep insulting me?" she asked. "Why did you keep pushing me away?"

He shook his head in self-derision. "I'd promised you the world, Henry. I'd promised you the opportunity to meet every eligible bachelor in London, and suddenly all I wanted to do was hide you away and keep you for myself. Don't you understand? I wanted to ruin you," he said, his words deliberately blunt. "I wanted to ruin you so that no other man would have you."

"Oh, Dunford," she said softly, placing her hand on his.

He grasped it like a starving man. "You weren't safe with me," he said hoarsely. "You're not safe with me now."

"I think I am," she whispered, placing her other hand in his. "I know I am."

"Hen, I promised you...God damn it, I promised you."

She wet her lips. "I don't want to meet all those other men. I don't want to dance with them, and I don't want their flowers."