The fire crackled beside Henry. He stood by the mantel, studying the room with a scowl on his face. There was too much cedar and pine, and oranges and cloves, and dried pomegranates. The holiday cheer turned his stomach.

Or perhaps it was only that Tilly stood across from him, surrounded by the other guests as she sat at the card table and quietly laughed at a joke with the duke and duchess. Even in the candlelight, she lit up the entire room. It was not a surprise she was so regarded on Drury Lane.

He wished it were only the two of them once again. Like the first night they met.

Tilly glanced up and met his stare for a moment, nodding slightly in recognition.

It was unfair of him to be so greedy, and he knew that. But that didn’t dull the edge of jealousy that hit him in the gut as Lord Garvey and Mr. Silas Drake flirted with her shamelessly.

And that, even if performing, she flirted back.

Love was a wicked thing. He didn’t like who it made him become. He might have been insufferable being a lovesick fool, but playing the part of a jealous lover didn’t, and wouldn’t, suit.

No, this was not how he would live. Nor would it be how he spent the rest of this year.

“Drink, sir?” The footman stopped, holding up a polished tray full of port.

It wouldn’t be strong enough, but it was a beginning. He grabbed a glass and gulped it down, glaring in the direction of Mr. Haskett as he sat beside Tilly.

“Come play, Davies,” Stephen urged, calling from across the room.

He never had the stomach for cards. He left that to Rafe. But then again, he rarely drank, and in the past few months, he found it a little too easy to indulge. Up until recently, his life was planned and regimented.

And since meeting Tilly, none of that made sense.

Hell, he was smiling and laughing, and he had participated in a damn snowball fight. Willingly.

All of this was terrible.

And the worst of it was, he was so undeniably in love with Matilda Brennen that he didn’t see an escape.

But how could you love someone whom everyone else also adored? How could you do so without letting that jealousy eat away at you over time? And what if she eventually saw that he was nothing special to regard?

And what if, after enough time, they discovered they were not compatible?

They could never be a secret. At least, they couldn’t remain that way. He would never settle for her being his mistress. He cared for her too much.

He set the glass down on the mantel and leaned against it, feeling the weight of everything crashing down upon him.

Tilly was a chance for a future he was too afraid to imagine. But there was a risk there, too. And he had lived in such a calculated way, it was hard to know for sure how that would work.

“Devlin, do you always frown so much?” asked Lord Garvey. “Cheer up, you just inherited an earldom.”

The room broke out in a quiet snicker. Whether in jest or not, he didn’t appreciate that humor. It reminded him too much of school. Or university, or hell, his colleagues now. Someone always had a quip when it came to Henry.

“Lord Devlin is only frowning because he is far superior to the rest of the company in this room,” Tilly said, never looking up as she skillfully dealt out cards.

“And he knows it,” joked Lord Garvey.

“Oh, come now, the duke might object.” Tilly paused before quickly averting her eyes back to the cards in her hand.

The duchess, who sat beside the duke, removed the cigar from her lips that she had lit and stuffed it into the duke’s large smile. “I doubt that, Miss Brennan.”

The duke gazed at his new bride, chuckling to himself before tossing down a winning hand. “Until recently, I was not known for my character. That much is true.”

“And isn’t that a waste,” Mr. Drake added, tossing his cards and then raising his hands up in defeat. “I can’t play with your lot. Soon you’ll own my new barouche and that’s too rich for me.”

“No, it’s only a bit of fun.” Tilly glanced at Henry again, her green eyes wide and begging.

Begging for what, he wish he knew. But for one brief moment, he saw her facade fade, and she was just as miserable as he was.

Since kissing her in the closet earlier that morning, Henry had spent the day trying to distance himself from everyone. He never liked parties, and he didn’t expect that to change now. But he didn’t like the shift in Tilly either. She seemed guarded and distant. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice was pitched slightly too high, and her laugh sounded different.

And since Mr. Haskett arrived, he had remained close to Tilly and was quick to offer her up for entertainment.

She had sung and played piano already, read for the group, provided colorful stories during dinner, and now was playing cards with everyone.

“Come play whist, my lord,” she said to him.

He hated when she called him that. He loathed it in fact.

“I don’t play cards,” he said, gripping his glass tighter. When would it be appropriate to retire for the evening? He regretted staying the day as it was. The duke had insisted he couldn’t talk about this private matter until he had had a night’s rest and a good meal in his stomach after being holed up in a small cottage because of the snowstorm.

Mr. Haskett stood in the doorway, talking to another guest before he pointed his chin and laughed. “Miss Brennan, do you know how to shuffle? No wonder Mr. Drake nearly lost his carriage.”

Tilly only swallowed, her cheeks growing red.

Henry narrowed his eyes on the man. Her stage manager was a long way from London and seemed way too invested in her every move.

“Lord Devlin,” Mr. Haskett said, “come play, and I will see Miss Brennan doesn’t deal.”

“I have no interest in cards,” Henry snapped.

Tilly glanced up from her hand of cards, glaring at him.

“I heard you were leaving London. Is that true, Lord Devlin?” Mrs. Dryer asked. Major Peter Dryer sat beside his wife, quietly reading the newspaper, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the party.

Henry wasn’t keen on the shift of interest. Then again, he would gladly face questioning if it meant Mr. Haskett left Tilly alone before Henry did something about it. That would bring around no good end.

“It is. I must see to some important matters.”

“Concerning your brother?” Mrs. Dryer asked.

Henry’s jaw ticked. He watched as he set the glass down on the mantel, sure that if he didn’t, he would crush the glass. “What about Lieutenant Davies?”

“As you know he is without a ship at the moment…”