“The slut and her paramour I see.”“Good God.” Blinking, Agatha drew away from Henry, his frozen chin looming squarely above her. Why had she given in to the devilish voice that had pushed her into reaching up to him?“Not God. That’s Lord Fashington now, thank you Miss Beauregard.” Agatha stared blearily at the figure on his horse; no longer a charming dilettante, Charles Fashington was still a good looking man, but now his mouth seemed to pout in vanity rather than strength; his black hair slicked back revealing a strong widow’s peak. “You wouldn’t have called off our engagement at the time had you known that I would be coming into my inheritance, would you?”Henry lifted his large hand as if it burnt from where it fit snugly at her waist. “Go to blazes, Charles. You wanted out just as much as she did. You just weren’t man enough at first to break it off yourself.”Charles jerked at his reins, causing his horse to sidle. “Shut up, Anglethorpe. I have as much influence as you have now.
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