Page 4

Chapter Four

“ T hat scoundrel!” Evelyn wailed. “How dare he send me flowers!”

The silk ribbon snapped between Evelyn’s fingers, fluttering to the floor like a fallen petal. Her voice rang through the sitting room with such vehemence that her friend, Hazel Thorne, nearly dropped her embroidery needle.

“Pardon?” Hazel blinked, entirely bewildered. “Who dares to?—?”

“Why, the Duke of Aberon of course,” Evelyn snarled, flinging the bouquet of perfect white peonies onto the tea table as though they might bite. “Imagine the audacity. The sheer insufferable gall of the man. As though I were some simpering debutante, won over by petals and scent.”

Hazel, who had not yet been told precisely what had happened between her friend and the aforementioned duke, eyed the flowers with caution. “They are very lovely, though.”

“They reek of manipulation.”

“They smell like peonies.”

“I should like to see them set aflame.”

“Evelyn,” Hazel said gently, “have you had breakfast?”

Before Evelyn could respond with something cutting and undoubtedly melodramatic, the door flew open and their other close friend, Cordelia Brookes burst in, with her cheeks flushed from the cold and her arms laden with parcels.

“Forgive me, forgive me! I had to detour by Gunter’s, or I feared you would both mutiny.

” She deposited a wrapped box of ices and a tin of biscuits onto the tea table, nearly toppling the vase of offending flowers.

“Now, what are the news? Has someone died? Been caught in a scandal? Been proposed to by a terrifying duke?”

“Yes,” Evelyn replied flatly.

Cordelia blinked. “Yes to which part?”

“Yes to all of it, emotionally speaking,” Hazel muttered, and Cordelia turned a wide-eyed gaze from her to Evelyn.

“Evelyn. Start talking.”

Evelyn sat down with all the regal command of a general about to outline a siege. “I need your help to dissuade the Duke of Aberon from marrying me.”

Cordelia’s gasp was immediate and dramatic. “You’re betrothed?”

“Not willingly.”

“Even better!” Cordelia teased, clapping her hands in delight.

Evelyn tried to shorten the tale as much as possible while still providing her friends with all the details necessary for them to agree with her.

Hazel frowned, clearly the lone voice of reason. “I’m still not entirely certain this is the tragedy you seem to think it is, Evelyn. He is a duke and wealthy and… well, from what you’ve shared, striking. If one likes the brooding sort.”

“He is a walking threat, Hazel,” Evelyn pouted.

“He sent you flowers.”

“I don’t care if he sent me a throne carved of sapphires. He’s manipulative, controlling, arrogant?—”

“So are most titled men,” Cordelia pointed out brightly, unwrapping a biscuit.

Hazel tilted her head, hesitant. “Is this… is this about Lord Ashworth?”

Evelyn went still. That silence stretched like a wire.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and hard. “The only way in which he matters is this: because of him, I know what a selfish man looks like. And what a selfish man is willing to do to get what he wants.”

Cordelia’s biscuit paused halfway to her mouth upon hearing those words. Hazel’s face softened, but her chin lifted with resolve.

“Well,” Cordelia said briskly after a moment, “in that case, we’ll help you. Obviously.”

“Of course, we will,” Hazel added, squeezing Evelyn’s hand.

“Now,” Cordelia said, eyes gleaming, “we need a plan. How does one frighten off a brooding, powerful, intimidating duke?”

“Poison?” Hazel offered half-heartedly.

“I was thinking of something with fewer potential gallows.”

“Bore him?” Evelyn suggested. “Talk endlessly about bonnet trims and the comparative merits of lawn and muslin.”

“Or become suddenly obsessed with beetles?” Cordelia mused. “Talk about nothing but insects. Preferably dead ones.”

“I could take up writing sentimental poetry about our imaginary future children,” Hazel suggested with a straight face.

“That might terrify me , ” Cordelia laughed.

Evelyn’s lips twitched despite herself. “I could fake a wasting illness.”

“You are too healthy and ruddy. No one would believe it,” Cordelia declared.

“What if I take to weeping at the sight of him?” Evelyn mused.

“He might think you’re in love with him.”

They all shuddered.

Hazel leaned forward. “What about asking outrageous questions about his finances? Men hate that.”

“Oh yes,” Cordelia agreed. “Ask how many bedrooms he has and how many wives he’s buried in them.”

They erupted into laughter which was that sharp, bright, helpless laughter that bounced off the wallpaper and curled like smoke into the room’s corners.

Evelyn wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.

He might have been a duke. He might have been a storm in a tailored coat. But she was not alone.

“I suppose,” Evelyn mused with mock seriousness, “I could challenge him to a game of cards. Let him suffer the indignity of losing to me in front of a crowd.”

“Ooh,” Cordelia agreed with her eyes gleaming, “humiliation. Delightful. Make him cry over spilled dice and lost coin.”

“I could flirt with other men too,” she added airily, adjusting a lock of hair. “The Duke seems so very confident. A touch of jealousy might be instructive.”

“ That ,” said a smooth, rich voice from the doorway, “would be highly inadvisable.”

The three women froze.

Evelyn turned slowly, feeling her heart sinking and racing all at once.

Robert Firming, the Duke of Aberon, stood just inside the doorway, clad in slate-gray with darker leather gloves, as if he’d stepped from a portrait commissioned by a gothic imagination.

His dark hair, unruly from the breeze, framed a face too sharp, too striking to ever be called gentle.

His eyes, cold and impossibly focused, settled on her with the weight of gravity.

Worst of all, he appeared to be far too amused.

“I had no idea I occupied your thoughts to such an extent, Miss Ellory,” he continued, folding his gloved hands behind his back.

“But I confess, the image of you plotting my defeat is… intriguing to say the least. I doubt my pride would suffer much from losing to you though I am open to finding out.”

Evelyn’s breath caught somewhere between indignation and something far more dangerous.

“And as for flirting with other men,” he added with casual menace, “I would urge you against it. I’m not in the mood to duel some poor idiot who mistakes you for a woman in need of rescuing.”

She shot to her feet with an entire storm in her eyes. “What has given you the right to walk in here, uninvited, eavesdropping like a highwayman?”

“I knocked,” he said simply. “Do you often plan covert campaigns within earshot of your enemy?”

Cordelia and Hazel had tactfully faded toward the farthest tea tray, whispering with wide eyes in an effort to look invisible.

Evelyn walked up to him, trying to keep at least a semblance of control. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with your father,” he said smoothly. “We arranged the time earlier this week. You may remember, it’s when you were too busy throwing flowers into the fire.”

“He is not here,” she lied.

“Curious.” His dark brows lifted, and he took one slow step forward. “Then it is strange that his valet took my coat not five minutes ago and mentioned that the Viscount would join me shortly.”

Evelyn’s mouth opened. Then, closed. No witty reply came to her.

His grin was subtle and wicked. “Ah. Speechless. That is… a first.”

Before she could summon a retort, he took her hand gently in his, turned it palm-down, and pressed a warm kiss just above her knuckles. His breath brushed her skin.

“Until we speak again, my dear fiancée.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room like a man who knew she would follow eventually, whether to throttle him or something else entirely.

She watched him go, furious, but then, her eyes caught on the subtle twitch of his hand at his side. It was the faintest, frustrated flex of fingers into a fist, having happened just before he disappeared around the corner. And for some maddening reason, it made her feel the tiniest bit triumphant.

The moment the Duke vanished from view, Evelyn slammed the door with such force the windows rattled. Her cheeks were burning. In fact, they were absolutely aflame, and it had nothing to do with exertion.

The nerve of the man. The smugness. The insolence. The way his lips had brushed her hand as if she were some swooning debutante eager to be ravished. And worst of all, the way her pulse had betrayed her, racing like a silly schoolgirl’s at the brush of his fingers.

Cordelia cleared her throat delicately. “Well, I must say… if that’s what being ruined looks like, I’d like to schedule my own scandal at once.”

Hazel stifled a laugh behind her teacup though her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Do you suppose he practices that voice in the mirror? It’s very… effective.”

Evelyn turned on them both with a glare. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, we’ve already started,” Cordelia said, flopping dramatically onto the chaise and fanning herself with a biscuit. “I feel faint. Positively overwhelmed. That man said fiancée like it was a threat and a promise.”

“I hate him,” Evelyn growled, marching over to retrieve her forgotten embroidery hoop, jabbing the needle into the fabric like it had personally offended her.

“Is that why your cheeks are crimson and your hand is shaking?” Hazel asked sweetly. “Just wondering.”

“I am furious,” she declared.

“You’re flustered,” Cordelia corrected.

“I am infuriated by the Duke of Aberon’s arrogance, his presumption, his complete disregard for civility, and?—”

“—his face?” Cordelia offered helpfully.

Evelyn glared at her.

“Oh, come now,” Hazel said gently. “It’s not a crime to admit he’s… well, rather beautifully carved from brimstone.”

“He is rude, he is cold, and he is determined to control me like some prized mare in a breeding program,” Evelyn snapped, stabbing the embroidery again. “And I will not be handled.”

“No, you’re clearly handling him ,” Cordelia said lightly. “With sharp words and a fire in your eyes.”

“I will find a way out of this,” Evelyn muttered, more to herself than to them. “He may think he has won, but I am not going to be anyone’s duchess. Especially not his.”

Hazel exchanged a knowing look with Cordelia then patted Evelyn’s hand.

“We believe you,” she said solemnly. “But perhaps… just in case… you should keep wearing that color. It made your eyes shine quite nicely when you were threatening him.”

Evelyn let out a strangled sound and threw a cushion at both of them.

That only made them laugh harder.