Chapter 4 page 1
What had he done? Lord Kinneas blundered down the
darkened corridor with Selphie's parting words echoing in
his ears. "Whatever is the matter, I hope you know you
can always confide in me."
Heaven help him, she was the last person in whom he
could ever confide. For she was both his problem and the
impossible solution to it.
How could he stay for the ball to celebrate his cousin's
engagement when it was certain to mean watching Viscount
Dintch make a conquest of the woman Irvine loved? He'd
sooner be hanged.
An air of brooding silence hung over the sleeping house.
Irvine had to get outside where he could breathe and where
the night air might cool his fever of self-reproach.
What must Selphie think of him after the way he'd acted?
Had he angered her? Frightened her? Repelled her with
his raw emotions the way she might have cowered from the
sight of a gaping, gushing wound? Whatever her reaction,
he had probably driven her straight into his rival's
arms.
He was wandering on the south lawn, drowning in regrets,
when a familiar masculine voice reached out of the
darkness. "Who's there?"
"Squall?" Irvine stopped. "Is that you?"
"Oh, Irvine." His cousin sounded relieved. "I've hardly
had a chance for a word with you. It was good of you to
come. I hope you and Miss Tilmitt are enjoying
yourselves."
Irvine tried to mouth a polite falsehood, but he could
not.
"Ah," said Squall in a knowing tone. "Anything I can
do?"
If he didn't tell someone, he might explode, as he had
very nearly done with Selphie. "Care to give a fellow a
little advice in matters of the heart?"
Squall gave a soft, raspy chuckle. Irvine could imagine
his cousin's dark brow raised. "I am hardly an expert on
the subject."
"You must know something, though, securing such a lovely
fiancée." In spite of his marred looks and his suspect
reputation.
"What's the trouble then?" asked Lionheart. "I won't
pretend I have any wisdom to offer. Now and then it just
does a man good to get it all out. Like a thorough
purging."
Something about the confessional atmosphere of the
night's warm darkness coaxed Kinneas to speak. "It's Miss
Tilmitt, as I expect you've guessed."
What had he done? Lord Kinneas blundered down the
darkened corridor with Selphie's parting words echoing in
his ears. "Whatever is the matter, I hope you know you
can always confide in me."
Heaven help him, she was the last person in whom he
could ever confide. For she was both his problem and the
impossible solution to it.
How could he stay for the ball to celebrate his cousin's
engagement when it was certain to mean watching Viscount
Dintch make a conquest of the woman Irvine loved? He'd
sooner be hanged.
An air of brooding silence hung over the sleeping house.
Irvine had to get outside where he could breathe and where
the night air might cool his fever of self-reproach.
What must Selphie think of him after the way he'd acted?
Had he angered her? Frightened her? Repelled her with
his raw emotions the way she might have cowered from the
sight of a gaping, gushing wound? Whatever her reaction,
he had probably driven her straight into his rival's
arms.
He was wandering on the south lawn, drowning in regrets,
when a familiar masculine voice reached out of the
darkness. "Who's there?"
"Squall?" Irvine stopped. "Is that you?"
"Oh, Irvine." His cousin sounded relieved. "I've hardly
had a chance for a word with you. It was good of you to
come. I hope you and Miss Tilmitt are enjoying
yourselves."
Irvine tried to mouth a polite falsehood, but he could
not.
"Ah," said Squall in a knowing tone. "Anything I can
do?"
If he didn't tell someone, he might explode, as he had
very nearly done with Selphie. "Care to give a fellow a
little advice in matters of the heart?"
Squall gave a soft, raspy chuckle. Irvine could imagine
his cousin's dark brow raised. "I am hardly an expert on
the subject."
"You must know something, though, securing such a lovely
fiancée." In spite of his marred looks and his suspect
reputation.
"What's the trouble then?" asked Lionheart. "I won't
pretend I have any wisdom to offer. Now and then it just
does a man good to get it all out. Like a thorough
purging."
Something about the confessional atmosphere of the
night's warm darkness coaxed Kinneas to speak. "It's Miss
Tilmitt, as I expect you've guessed."
