Forbidden by Nicola Cornick

on the brandy glass as he turned it round and around in his hand. “Miss
Mallon would wish to marry for love,” he said, “and that is something that I can
never give her.”
    “Ah, the influence of the lovely Isobel,” Garrick said
ironically.
    Henry shrugged. “Call it what you will. Truth is, there are a
hundred reasons why I cannot marry Miss Mallon. I’d be the biggest fortune
hunter in London if I did and I’ll not live off my wife’s money.”
    “You have too much pride,” Garrick said, with the ghost of a
smile.
    “Perhaps,” Henry said. Pride, duty, honor and service were the
virtues that had held his life together through all that had happened to him
since childhood. They were the principles he would never abandon.
    “How did you know?” he was unable to resist asking. “How did
you know I had been with Miss Mallon this evening?”
    Garrick looked so smug he wanted to punch him.
    “You looked as though you had spent the past few hours in Celia
Walter’s bed,” Garrick said. “However, if you had, you would not be in such a
bad mood.” He shifted. “Then there was the fact that you were quite open about
your loss of Templemore but very reluctant to discuss Miss Mallon herself. At
first, I thought this was because you disliked her for taking Templemore away
from you. Then—” he steepled his fingers “—I thought the reverse was probably
true. You were reticent because you like her very much and you didn’t want me to
guess.”
    “Bloody hell,” Henry growled. “Have you finished?”
    “Almost,” Garrick said. “Finally, there is the fact that you
smell of rose perfume and that you have a hairpin stuck to your jacket.” He
grinned. “I rest my case.”
    “Hell,” Henry said again. He stared blankly into the fire. “I
had no idea I was so easy to read.”
    “You’re not,” Garrick said dryly. He rested his chin in one
hand. Henry felt his narrowed gaze on his face. “I have to ask, though. What
were you thinking?”
    “I wasn’t thinking,” Henry said through his teeth. He felt a
sudden and unexpected pang of tenderness for Margery, as though he had failed
somehow to protect her. “At least not with my head.”
    He thought of Margery, with her passion for Gothic romances and
her sweet starry-eyed generosity. He felt an utter cad for the way he had
behaved, deceiving her, damn near seducing her. It was unforgivable. He was
unforgivable.
    He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Tomorrow I will tell
Miss Mallon about her inheritance, take her to Templemore and get back to my
work for Wellington—” He stopped, arrested by the expression on Garrick’s
face.
    “Henry,” Garrick said slowly. “Did Miss Mallon know who you
were when you met tonight?”
    “I—” Henry stopped. “Damnation,” he said, after a moment. He
could see all too clearly the point that Garrick was making. He wondered that he
had not thought of it before. He had felt guilt at deceiving Margery when she
had been so open with him. He had deplored his raging lust and his lack of
self-control.
    He had not thought how Margery might react when she discovered
his real identity and that he had been heir to Templemore before her.
    “Hell,” he said.
    “That,” his cousin said dryly, “is exactly what will break
loose tomorrow when Miss Mallon finds out who you really are.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The Ace of Swords: Change. There are battles to be fought
    ���M ISS M ALLON ! M ISS M ALLON !”
    Margery swam up through layers of sleep to find the face of
Jessie, the third housemaid, hanging over her. Even though Margery was now
awake, the girl continued to shake her shoulder as though she could not stop.
“Wake up!”
    “I am awake.” Margery sat up and reached for her wrap. The room
was already bright with sunlight even though the battered little clock on the
shelf over the fire registered only eight o’clock. Margery’s head ached.
Normally she was up at six. She had overslept. “What on earth is