Page 29

“No,” Emily said, just as sharply, “I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Except this time, it wasn’t the Earl who had spoken.

It was Emily’s father.

Clayton Rutley, Lord Drowton, made only rare appearances in his daughters’ lives for all that he lived in the same house with them. He had, Emily always assumed, never recovered from his wife’s death. Though he was forever consumed with matters of business, finances, and status, she had a few memories of him being playful, of laughing, in those years before her mother’s death.

In the years since, Emily could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her father smile—and this was always directed at her. The twins, born the day their mother had died, were never graced with his approval.

Part of Emily hated him for that, even as part of her clung to hope that he would somehow, someday, treat all his daughters with love and care.

No matter how much Emily normally resented his absence from their lives, however, she wished he had not chosen this moment to make a reappearance.

The Earl recovered more quickly from the shock of the Viscount’s appearance. Emily noted that Rose had vanished; had she fetched their father? Traitor.

“Lord Drowton,” the Earl said with a polite incline of his head. Emily wanted to smack him. He was never polite like that withher, but now, he planned to use manners to sway her father. Blasted man! “I’m so glad you have joined us. Perhaps you could entreat your daughter to see reason?”

“I certainly shall,” the Viscount said, nodding smartly at the Earl and not even looking at Emily.

Men! Lord, but they were completely wretched, the lot of them! Even halfway decent ones like Diana’s husband had clearly been planted as a scheme to better the perception of the whole of their cursed sex.

“But Papa—” Emily began. Her father cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

“You have,” he said gravely, “spent the last several Seasons in search of a husband, have you not, Emily?”

His fixed gaze warned that she should not dare attempt to lie.

“Yes, Papa,” she admitted, “but?—”

He cut her off again.

“And I am to understand from your sister’s hysterical explanation that there was some manner of scandal that occurred?”

It really was a shame that Emily was going to have to murder Rose.

“It really wasn’t—” she tried, but this time the Earl interrupted her.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said, somehow managing to sound both firm and apologetic.

“And now the man is here to do the right thing and request your hand?” the Viscount continued, eyes fixed on his daughter.

She didn’t bother answering. Clearly this conversation did not actually require her participation, and if one more man interrupted her, she was going to start screaming and never, ever stop.

Indeed, the Earl proved quick enough with a response. “Yes, My Lord. It would be my honor—” How he managed that with a straight face, Emily would never know. “—to ask your daughter to be my wife.”

“She accepts,” said the Viscount promptly.

“I do not,” Emily interjected, and this time she was not so much interrupted as ignored entirely.

“Come to my study,” the Viscount instructed, no longer even pretending to involve Emily. “And we shall sort out the details.”

“Papa!” Emily tried again. She had to. She just had to.

Naturally, it had no effect.

Or, rather, it had no effect on herfather. The Earl, on the other hand, took only one step in the direction the Viscount indicated before pausing.