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The look Amanda shot her was wounded and not mollified in the least.

“No,” she said bitterly, “not anymore, he won’t. Thanks toyou.”

And she leaped out of the carriage with a huff and a flutter of skirts, not even bothering to wait for a servant to help her down. Rose shot Emily a look that was half sympathy, half recrimination, and followed her twin.

Emily did not immediately leave her seat. Instead, she sat for a moment, letting a small, grim smile cross her face.

Perhaps tonight had not gone at all according to plan. It had been messy, irritating, and her sisters would no doubt remain cross with her for days, but there was one thing that Emily had certainly managed.

There was no possibility of the Earl of Moore coming to call, not after everything that had happened.

Benedict was, to put it frankly, in a proper snit when he knocked on the front door of Drowton House the next morning. He’darrived at the very first moment that could be considered a reasonable visiting hour.

This was, he told himself, because he was eager to get the matter of courtship and marriage sorted. It wasnotbecause he wanted to rub it in the face of the quarrelsome Miss Emily Rutley.

Not even if she deserved it.

And shediddeserve it, he thought as he smoothed the front of his coat, waiting for a servant to open the door. For not only had she bumped into him, argued with him, and made a scene over his visit to her sister, but she had also left him in ahighlyuncomfortable situation after she’d stormed away.

He grimaced, recalling the stern, irritated look of the Duke of Hawkins, the highly intrigued look of the Duchess of Hawkins, and the alarmed look of Lady Frances after Miss Rutley had stormed off.

“Well!” the Duchess had said with evident relish.

“Quite the charm you have there, Moore,” the Duke added dryly.

Resisting the urge to wince had been a challenge.

Benedict had long since learned that the best way to handle his mother’s…indiscretions was to ignore them. This was, of course, easier said than done—even before his mother had taken up with a man who had turned out to be a bloodymurderer. Butthough he tried not to reward his mother’s outlandishness with the attention she so clearly sought, he had never quite managed to remain entirely ignorant of her actions.

Thus, he remained unfortunately aware that the man in front of him had been shot by a villain who had gained access to thetonvia Benedict’s mother’s bedchamber.

It was, to put it mildly, a fucking mess.

Facing down this trio—well, two of them as Lady Frances’ gaze hadn’t left the floor—in the wake of a highly embarrassing alteration with a woman who was, apparently, their friend was therefore incredibly awkward.

Yet some perverse, proud part of him forbade him to apologize for something that was not, he maintained, his fault.

“Right,” he said instead, hearing the echo of Miss Rutley’s words a moment too late. “Well, please excuse me.”

It hadn’t been the most elegant of retreats, he’d allowed, but it had gotten the job done. He’d given up the evening for a loss and headed home to regroup for the next day.

In most other circumstances, he’d have given up the nascent courtship with Miss Amanda Rutley as well. It was no fault of her own; the girl was pretty enough, interesting enough, and likeable enough. Indeed, “enough” was, to Benedict, the perfect descriptor.

But he was looking for an easy courtship, not one that brought him into social contact with his mother’s worst mistake. Not one that included a harridan of a sister by marriage in the deal.

It was, alas, this harridan that had made him cling to the idea of paying Miss Amanda a visit.

A stately butler with a thinning pate of hair answered the door.

“The Earl of Moore to see Miss Amanda Rutley,” he announced politely and with only a hint of triumph.

He was not in the habit of letting persnickety misses get the best of him. He would not bow to the whims of Miss Rutley simply because she had decided—baselessly, he felt—that he ought not be allowed to call on her sister. It was absurd. She was beingabsurd.

And even if he did not get the chance to tell her so directly, he could at least show her that she was being absurd by showing up here and serving as a perfectly adequate suitor. And then, assuming all went to plan, an unobjectionable husband. Miss Rutley would change her tune, certainly, when her sister was a countess.

And if she didn’t? Well, perhaps he could identify some Scottish lord in need of a wife. If the gentleman was rather hard of hearing, all the better. He wouldn’t be able to hear Miss Rutley quarrelling.

“Just a moment, My Lord,” the butler said, accepting Benedict’s proffered card.