Page 8 of Almost A Scoundrel

Yet the instant protest that swelled in his gut at the thought of Phaedra wedding Avondale led to the disturbing revelation that he felt possessive of her, illogically so.

Admit it, she feels like yours.

Deerhurst absolutely refused to give credence to that intruding thought. And he would not object, in any way, if Avondale showed interest in Lady Phaedra.

He simply had no right.

Deerhurst held his breath.

Avondale shook his head, and Deerhurst exhaled slowly. Thank Christ his resolve would not be put to the test, and for the purpose of agreeing with his friend, Deerhurst shook his head as well.No, she is not the one for you.

But even as he shook his head, he knew that logic and reason didn’t seem to carry any weight. His objection seemed to be driven by something much deeper. Primal. He didn’t want Avondale to set his sights on Lady Phaedra. Even though he didn’t plan to explore the connection either.

After all, he had to think about Abigail.

Confound it.

He should never have given in to temptation. Now he couldn’t forget about the woman, and all he wanted to do was kiss her again. Perhaps if he hadn’t succumbed to his instinct that night, he might not have opened his mouth to say to the group of men, “She once threatened a suitor with a pistol.”

Fortunately for him, his friends did not so much as blink at this revelation. They had already moved on to the next woman on the list.

Deerhurst tossed back his brandy, welcoming the slight burn down his throat.

“What of Lady Ophelia Thornton? I recall my mother wrote her name at the top of the list.” Avondale said to Warrick, who was poring over the list.

Deerhurst relaxed. “Not bad,” he spoke up. “If you can get past her watchdog.” And a much better prospect for Avondale. In truth, Deerhurst didn’t know all that much about Lady Ophelia, or any of the women on the list other than that they were all in possession of sizable dowries. Which, he supposed, was the point.

Avondale’s mother had compiled her list wisely.

He listened half-heartedly as Warrick and Saville launched into a discussion about the women and debated their flaws over their talents while Warrick scribbled notes next to the names. Lost in thought, Deerhurst nodded when they nodded and shook his head when they did.

His mind spun.

What flaws could Lady Phaedra possibly possess?

The answer was simple.

None.

He thought back to her rosy lips and the soft blush that had infused her cheeks after their kiss. Even the flicker of fire in her eyes could not detract from her softness. It felt like mere hours ago that they shared that moment in his garden.

Deerhurst was sure the moment was exaggerated in his mind. It didn’t matter. His concern lay in the fact that he’d stood the better of the previous night staring out into his garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain garden sprite.

“What about Lady Harriet?”

“Chatterbox,” Deerhurst said without thought. He blinked. He hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation. What had been decided about Lady Ophelia?

“True,” Saville piped up. “But also demure. A good trait for a wife.”

“What about Lady Phaedra’s biggest flaw?” Warrick asked.

Deerhurst’s head jerked to Warrick. He should intervene, he knew. But he could invent no flaw. And he hoped beyond all hope that any flaw offered would be enough to fully divert Avondale’s attention elsewhere.

He was a bastard, he knew.

He couldn’t even provide an explanation as to why his sanity left when it came to the woman. It seemed implausible that one kiss had affected him this much. There was no attachment between him and Lady Phaedra. Avondale had the right to court whomever he wished.

“Have you heard her laughter?” Saville asked Warrick. “I swear it could scare an alley cat.”