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."