And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

He wasn’t cold, yet he still felt chilled inside; the shock of nearly—so very nearly—losing Henrietta wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. Still, he had found her, rescued her, and they were both hale and whole, and he was inexpressibly grateful for whatever fate had smiled on them.

Which fact very neatly led him to the question he was going to have to find an answer to soon: How long could he pretend—to himself, to her, and to everyone else—that he wasn’t falling, in whatever way there was to fall, for The Matchbreaker?

Head down, eyes fixed unseeing on the pavement ahead of him, he strode quickly home.

Chapter Four

The next day, they reached Osterley Park, on the outskirts of the capital, just before noon.

Lady Jersey greeted them with open arms. “My dears! The hero and heroine of the hour—you must tell me all about your ordeal.”

Henrietta exchanged a cynical glance with James; neither was surprised by her ladyship’s demand. Nicknamed “Silence,” Lady Jersey was an inveterate gossip and, not having been present at the rout the previous evening but overseeing a ball at Almack’s instead, she was simply avid to hear the story from the best possible source.

“It was merely an accident,” Henrietta informed her. “There were too many of us squeezed onto the bridge—the one over the stream that gives the best view of the fireworks—and I was accidentally tipped off.”

“And James here jumped in and rescued you.” Lady Jersey sent James an arch glance, then drew back to examine Henrietta. “Well, you don’t appear to have taken any lasting harm, which is the main thing.” Her ladyship’s somewhat protuberant eyes shifted again to James, and she smiled. “And James had the chance to play knight-errant to your fair maiden.” Lady Jersey’s smile deepened and she looked back at Henrietta. “Excellent! Now you must come and join the others—we’re gathering in the conservatory. Once everyone arrives, we’ll head off on our ramble.”

They allowed themselves to be ushered into the conservatory, then Lady Jersey whisked back to greet more arrivals, leaving them to the mercies of those already assembled.

Immediately, they were besieged, not just by matrons willing to be appalled by the horrors of a near brush with death but even more by the many unmarried young ladies present, all eager to vicariously experience a real life-and-death rescue.

James would have slunk away, would have run away if he’d been able—anything rather than face the bright eyes of the young ladies so eager to ooh and aah over his manly exploits—but even though Henrietta seemed to be bearing up well, he didn’t want to, couldn’t make himself, quit her side. Even when she cast him a sidelong glance, then embarked on a more colorful rendition of his rescue of her for the edification of Miss Chisolm, Miss Griffiths, and Miss Sweeney, he stoically endured and remained beside her, and pretended not to hear.

When, finally, everyone had heard the tale and the surrounding hordes thinned enough to let them wander, he caught Henrietta’s hand, anchored it on his sleeve, and strolled down one of the many avenues of palms and potted plants arranged about the well-stocked conservatory. He glanced at her face. “Are you all right?”

Reliving the horror again and again could hardly be pleasant.

But she nodded. “Yes.” Glancing up, she met his eyes. “I expected the interest, and with any luck, that should be the worst of it behind us.”

“Hmm.” He studied her eyes, then looked ahead. “Next time we’re about to walk into an inquisition like that, do, please, warn me.”

She chuckled.

“And,” he went on, “I’m not at all sure I approve of being labeled a Sir Galahad. I’m not even certain Sir Galahad could swim.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” She hesitated, then looked up at him and said, “And I assure you it will do your quest no harm to be painted in such a light.”

“Hmm.” How to break it to her that he wasn’t all that keen on impressing even the buxom Miss Chisolm? Not now. “I’m . . . not sure that—”

Henrietta pinched his arm, then smiled amiably as Mrs. Julian and her niece, Miss Chester, walked by. Once the pair were past, Henrietta murmured, “They all have ears, you know. And, incidentally, what about Miss Chester?”

James glanced down at her. “She’s too thin.”

Henrietta blinked. “I wouldn’t have labeled her thin—fashionably willowy, perhaps.”

“Thin,” James insisted; when she glanced up, he’d looked ahead, but she saw his jaw set. “And she’s too young. Not Miss Chester.”

She arched her brows and looked ahead, too. “Very well. Admittedly she is rather young.”

They continued slowly strolling about the conservatory. When it came to him, she wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore—no, she did know. She wanted to learn what he had meant by holding her hand all the way home last night. How was she supposed to interpret that? Yet this morning he hadn’t alluded to those moments, or to any . . . connection between them, not in any way. When in the carriage on the way to Osterley Park she’d talked gaily about the prospects of gaining more names for his list, he’d only grunted and let her rattle on.

So what was she to think?

What was she to make of it all—of the necklace, and him?

After several minutes of silence, she drew breath and said, “Thus far we have Miss Chisolm and Miss Downtree on our list—we really need to expand our horizons. You can’t have a viable short list with only two names.” She’d offered to help him find his necessary bride, and she would fulfill her self-imposed obligation.

“I have to wonder if keeping as short a short list as possible isn’t a sensible strategy. That way, I won’t have to try to remember the attributes of too many females all at once. You must know that male brains aren’t as capable as female ones when it comes to recalling details.”