“Millicent, wait!” he snapped, but she didn’t halt.
She yanked the door open and stormed out. The hussy, Miss Carstairs, was standing there, and she smiled and said, “Hello, Miss Pendleton. It’s nice to see you today.”
Millicent’s rage boiled over. She was much taller than Miss Carstairs, and she loomed in. “You can play games with your precious cousin, Mr. Falcon, but hear me and hear me well! If you harm me or mine, I’ll make you pay forever.”
As a parting comment, it wasn’t bad, and it completely captured her foul mood. Miss Carstairs blanched, and Millicent continued on, leaving the other woman slack-jawed with astonishment.
“Come in, Miss Carstairs.” Charles rose and waved her into the room. “You’d previously given me permission to call you Libby. Is that still all right with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
After bumping into Millicent out in the hall, she was wary, as if unsure whether she should enter or not. If she’d spun and dashed back to her bedchamber, he wouldn’t have blamed her.
He could have told her that Millicent’s vitriol wasn’t actually aimed at her. Millicent had been annoyed with him, but too gutless to vent her fury in the proper direction.
Obviously, she’d been harboring feelings Charles didn’t share. How long had she suffered in silence? Fish had warned him that he’d misconstrued his relationship with Millicent, but he’d scoffed at the notion. Fish had proved yet again that she understood people better than he ever had.
Libby hesitated in the doorway, and he said, “Don’t mind Millicent. She’s upset with me, and she took it out on you. I apologize for her outburst.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve often been shouted at. I’ve survived in the past, and I expect I’ll survive this time too.”
She walked over and sat down, and he studied her, pondering Millicent’s story. It was fantastical and improbable, but he had to admit it was very gripping. He and Libby were barely acquainted, but he liked her very much. If she was about to drag him into a swindle, she’d figured out the precise method to torment him.
How had she managed to identify his weakest spot so perfectly?
He perceived an interesting connection to her, one that could have developed into a genuine friendship. He thought she could use a loyal friend. She was constantly surrounded by crowds, but he suspected that she was very much alone.
He wished he could advise her as she maneuvered through her very public life. And gad, if he’d been twenty years younger, he’d have been half in love with her already. No wonder Luke couldn’t resist.
She exuded a forlorn air that made him want to take care of her. She oozed vulnerability, a damsel in distress who should have a strong shoulder to lean on. There wasn’t a man in the kingdom who could ignore that kind of pull.
“You look tired,” he said. “Have our many events fatigued you?”
“No. I’ve been quarreling with Fish and my cousin. It exhausts me.”
“I hope the subject wasn’t too intense.”
“It’s never too intense with us. They’re my only family, and we squabble occasionally—like affectionate siblings.”
He was curious as to what they’d been fighting about. Had it been the ploy Millicent claimed they were fomenting? He truly yearned for Millicent to be wrong and that Libby would never have agreed to conspire in such an awful scheme. If she was immersed in it, he’d be crushed.
“You sent for me,” she said. “What is it you need?”
“I had to talk to you about one issue, but another has suddenly arisen, and they’re both difficult. I can’t decide where to start.”
“I’m so grateful to have been your guest, and I sincerely pray I haven’t offended you somehow.”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s . . . it’s . . .”
He stumbled, unable to begin. Her eyes were wide, her expression innocent, and he sensed that harsh words would deeply wound her, and he couldn’t bear to.
His cheeks heated. “I guess this will be harder than I imagined.”
“I realize I look like a wilting violet, but I’m really quite sturdy. Whatever the topic, I’m certain we’ll muddle through.”
“All right. Here goes.”
But still, he hesitated. Once he spoke up, they’d be marching down the road to their separating. After she left, there would be no reason to socialize with her ever again. The prospect depressed him, as if there was a weight on his back, as if he was about to assume a burden that would be very heavy.
When he liked her so much, when they had such a potent bond, why kick her out? He was never cruel, and he didn’t want to be cruel to her, so why proceed? So far, she hadn’t done anything but befriend his daughter and grace his home with her lovely presence. As a reward, Charles would order her to pack her bags.
“Just tell me, Lord Roland,” she said, and she smiled.
Her smile was his downfall. She resembled Penny so much that he had to tamp down a shiver. Could Millicent’s tale be true? Could Libby be Little Henrietta? Was it possible?
The wild questions wedged into his head, and he shoved them away. He wouldn’t and couldn’t give them any credence. Millicent had been correct about one blatant, indisputable fact: If he learned that Henrietta might be alive, if there was even the slightest chance of it, he’d work to make it a reality—even if it wasn’t.
“I was chatting with Lord Barrett a bit earlier,” he said.
“And . . . ?” She was very composed, not providing the least hint that she’d misbehaved with him.
“I’m aware that you spent the night with him at Barrett.”
“Oh.”
He was glad she didn’t deny it. It saved them an awkward flurry of prevarication, and he could get straight to the point. “I’m aware too that he’s very fond of you.”
She winced with dismay. “He told you that?”
“Yes, and he’s admitted that you’re very fond of him too.”
“I’m trying not to be, but I’m not having much luck.”
“Luke is on a different path than you are. You understand that,
