Page 33 of A Scandal In July

Lenore felt her cheeks heat with a guilty flush, as if that wasn’t precisely what she’d asked her aunts to do. “Interesting theory.”

“They all seem convinced the Davies-Montgomery enmity is a thing of the past. That we’ve been enemies for so long that the universe is righting itself now by having us all fall in love.”

Lenore managed a snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

He raised his brows. “Is it? All three of my siblings have fallen for Montgomerys. Gryff with Maddie, Carys with Tristan, and Morgan with Harriet.”

“You make it sound as though we’re doomed.”

He shrugged, and her heart gave a funny lurch at the fact that he wasn’t outright denying the possibility that he could fall in love with her. Perhaps there was hope after all?

She skimmed another stone and kept her tone carefully neutral, praying that she wasn’t about to make a complete fool of herself.

“Andover keeps asking me to marry him,” she said. “He won’t take no for an answer.”

Rhys’s shoulder lifted in a casual shrug, but there was a thread of steely tension in his voice as he spoke.

“Why don’t you marry him, then? Put the poor sod out of his misery. And the rest of the country’s unmarried men, too, for that matter. Once you accept Andover, the rest will stop thinking they have a chance of capturing your heart.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lenore said, her heart pounding in her throat. “Andover doesn’t have my heart.”

Rhys didn’t even bother to skim his stone. He just threw it as far into the lake as he could. He almost hit a duck.

“Why not? He’s got a ducal title, a huge estate in Wiltshire, and a healthy bank balance.”

“Is that what you think I’m looking for in a husband?”

“Isn’t that whateverywoman’s looking for in a husband?” he countered cynically.

“Not me. I mean, it would beniceif the man I eventually marry isn’t a pauper, but I really don’t care much about material things. I’ve spent a large part of my life without what most people would call creature comforts, even necessities. There are no lovely hot baths in the middle of the rainforest, no chefs to cook up whatever delicious puddings your brain can conceive. In Brazil, I only had three dresses to last me an entire year.”

She twitched the skirts of her dress, which was now ruined beyond any hope of salvation. “And while I certainly appreciate pretty things, they’re not the most important thing in life.”

“What is?”

She tilted her head and waited for him to look directly at her. “Why, love of course.”

He rolled his eyes in typical male exasperation.

“You mock,” she said severely, “but that’s precisely what kept my parents together all these years, through thick and thin. It’s what kept us all from going mad and giving up hope for those weeks we were shipwrecked. I had a loving family to support me and comfort me. I’d trade a boatload of jewels for someone who loved me and cared for me.”

Rhys turned to look at her again. “And Andover doesn’t love you?”

She shook her head. “He does not.”

“And you don’t love him?”

“No.”

“What will you do if you don’t find someone who loves you?” he asked curiously.

“I suppose I’ll just stay a spinster, like Aunts Prudence and Constance.”

“A lot of women in your position would marry him just for financial security. Or to call themselves duchess.”

“Not me. He doesn’t make my heart flutter.”

Rhys’s dark eyes were steady on hers. “Have you ever met a man who does?