Henry had very much enjoyed his dance with Jacintha. The moment he had taken her in his arms, the past had come back to hit him full force, and he had been forced to draw in a sharp breath. She was even more beautiful than she had been back then, her nearness having such a great effect on him that he couldn’t find the words to explain all that he was feeling.

He had laughed and smiled and teased her, but she had not been so ready with her smiles. Her guard was still up, protecting her from him – but he had been bolstered by the fact that she had blushed deeply when he’d pulled her just a little closer.

Maybe she did remember their moment in the gardens, even though she stated she had pushed it out of her thoughts. Jacintha had never been able to lie particularly well, for she had always looked away from the person she had been speaking to as the words flew from her tongue, and, as they had been dancing, her gaze had shifted to somewhere past his left shoulder. Had she been hiding the truth from him? Did she remember more than she wanted to admit?

That would be a delicious truth.

Leaning forward, Henry leaned on the balcony rail and looked out at the swirling dancers. He was not at all pleased to see Jacintha dancing with Lord Slate for he had noticed that Lord Slate seemed particularly interested in the lady. Not that Jacintha could not dance with whomever she chose, but Henry would prefer that she had no specific acquaintances as yet. It meant that he would have more time to prove to her he was not the man she had first seen on her arrival in London.

Frowning to himself, he thought about all his uncle had suggested. To go to the Dover coast would be to remove himself far from London town and all its pleasures. He would be changing his evenings of dancing and music to walks on the beach and conversations with the working class. His nose wrinkled.

Snob!

The thought had him wince, guilt washing over him immediately. His uncle, brother to an Earl, was doing a wonderful job for the Crown and clearly did not find it particularly difficult to mix with those of a lower class. In fact, the way he had spoken of them gave Henry the suggestion that his uncle found them worthy of respect. Chewing on his lip, Henry supposed that this was because the working man had to do a great deal of hard labor in order to provide for his family – and here he was thinking that balls and soirees were the light of life! His head dropped for a moment, his chin almost resting on his chest. Where was his compassion for those of lower class than he? Where was his desire to help the poor? When the time came for him to take on the title of earl, he would have tenants to care for. Tenants who would work hard from dawn till dusk, preparing the land for planting and then, much later, harvesting the profits of their labor. And he would remain within his estate, simply focusing on accounts and the like instead of putting his own hand to the till. Did these men not deserve some kind of respect from him?

He drew in a long breath, wondering whether he should accept his uncle’s proposal. Mayhap it would be what he needed to improve his own character. It would be a chance to push away his vices and desires, focusing only on doing something profitable for a change. Something of use, something to help others instead of himself.

Lifting his head, Henry sighed and looked out at the dance floor again, realizing that the only reason he had not agreed to his uncle’s suggestion was because he did not particularly want to give up London. He liked it here. He liked the balls and soirees and recitals, and all that went with it! It came down to sheer selfishness on his part.

His eyes searched for Jacintha but he could not see her. His gaze narrowed as he continued to look for her, wondering which gentleman had come to claim her now. Finally, after much searching, he found her standing to the side of the ballroom with none other than Lord Slate.

His heart sank as he saw her smile, only for Lord Slate to reach out and take her hand. Henry supposed that the gentleman thought he would not be so easily seen over at this corner of the room, although he personally did not think that to take a distinguished lady such as Jacintha into the corner of a room in such a surreptitious manner was a wise idea.

His mouth dropped open as he witnessed Lord Slate lift Jacintha’s hand to his lips, only to turn it over, palm up, and press a kiss there. A kiss to the back of the hand where the lips touched the glove would be surprising in itself but to kiss the palm of the hand spoke of a great intimacy between the two.

His heart roared with pain, his hands whitening on the balcony rail.

Was there something more between Lord Slate and Lady Jacintha? Why had she followed him to the quieter area of the room? Why had she allowed him to do such a thing?

Unable to drag his eyes away from the situation, Henry saw that Jacintha looked almost as astonished as he felt. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly ajar. He could not guess what it was she was saying but she was clearly taking her leave of the man. Mayhap she was discomfited by what he had done?

White hot anger shot straight through him, making his entire body stiffen. He could not take his eyes away from her as she walked away from Lord Slate, seeing her look around as though worried someone had seen what Lord Slate had done. He watched Jacintha take in a deep breath, one hand pressed to her heart as though trying to calm the frantic beating that went on deep within her chest.

And then, she looked up at him.

Henry saw the fright in her expression, the worry that creased her brow. And yet, he could not remove the anger and upset from his own features. His brow furrowed, his eyes growing narrow as he watched her, seeing her start towards the staircase.

Apparently, she wanted to speak to him.

His gaze returned to Lord Slate who was, by this point, now talking amicably to some other gentleman. He did not seem in the least bit concerned about what he had done nor if anyone had seen. Was he hoping that someone might have witnessed his inappropriate gesture? If a rumor started, then Jacintha might be forced into matrimony – although whether she was hoping for marriage to Lord Slate, Henry could not say.

“Henry.”

Jacintha’s words were quiet and he turned around at once, seeing her pale features looking back at him. Her breathing was slightly ragged, as though she had rushed to get to him.

“Henry, that was not what it looked like, I – ”

“Why should I care what you and Lord Slate do?” Henry interrupted, rather brusquely. “That is your business, Jacintha.”

“Henry,” she said again, almost pleading with him. “Henry, I must know that you will not speak to anyone of what you saw.”

His lip curled. “And that is the only reason you are come to speak to me, is it?”

She looked at him helplessly, her eyes a little damp. “I – I cannot have this spread about, Henry.”

He snorted, unable to contain his frustration. “I see. And you think that a rogue like me enjoys putting rumors about, do you?”

“No, I – ”

“As I said before, Jacintha, I do not care what goes on between yourself and Lord Slate. I have much more important things on my mind.”

Looking back at her, he saw that she looked even more confused than before, clearly unsure as to why his manner was such an angry one. He did not feel the need to explain, his heart hammering in his chest and his hands curling into fists.

“Lord Slade was much too forward, Henry,” he heard Jacintha say, as he turned away. “I was shocked by his action and I am worried that it will be spread about. I think you are the only one who saw.”

“And you think so little of me that you believe I would spread such things about without even considering the impact such a rumor would have on you and your future,” Henry retorted, rounding on her. “Goodness, Jacintha, I knew you thought ill of me but I never expected it to be as bad as all that! I think I had best take my leave. Good evening.”

He did not wait for her to respond to him but turned around at once and began to walk away, leaving her standing alone on the balcony. The anger he felt pushed at him to hurry away, the hurt of her expectation of his behavior cutting deep.

She truly thought that he was the kind of gentleman who would spread rumors? Who would enjoy sharing gossip – even gossip about a lady he considered his friend? That pained him.

He left the ball, a stale taste in his mouth. This no longer pleased him, no longer gave him the enjoyment he had once derived. He finally saw himself in all his ugliness, finally saw himself as Jacintha saw him. He had to find his true character again, had to rid himself of all the vestiges of the life he had thought he enjoyed. It was time to leave London, time to put this place and all its frivolities behind him. He would return by the end of the Season in the hope that Jacintha was neither married nor betrothed, desperate to show her his true self. Desperate to show her that the man she had once known was still there. He needed to show her that he had never forgotten her, that the feelings he once had still rose in him – but he could not do that when he was considered a rogue and a rascal.

“Uncle,” he said, the moment he stepped into the drawing room and found his uncle sitting by the fire. “I have decided.”

His uncle Roderick looked up at him in surprise, setting the book he had been reading down on his lap. “Oh? And what have you decided?”

“I want to come with you, if you will still have me,” Henry replied, absolutely firm in his decision. “I will leave tomorrow if you so wish.”

His uncle got to his feet and held out his hand, shaking Henry’s firmly. “Good for you, Henry. We can leave tomorrow if you wish. I promise you, you will return to London a changed man.”

“A change for the better,” Henry replied, his thoughts still centered on Jacintha. “Thank you, uncle. I am already looking forward to it.”