Page 116 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

The Duke of Lennox sighed, straightening. “Both of us.”

“If you wish.” The Duke of Roxburghe pushed up his shirt sleeves.

“Neither of them.” Eveline darted around the Duke of Lennox. “A misunderstanding occurred between my brother and my fiancé.”

“I did not misread the situation,” Ernest snarled, stabbing a finger at the Duke of Lennox. “Despite your request for Eveline’s hand, this union is not official, and until that occurs, you’ll not have one moment alone with her.”

“I reject your demand.” The Duke of Lennox approached Ernest, keeping his arms at his sides. “I understand your desire to prevent a scandal, but you cannot prohibit me from encouraging our connection. We are to be married, and your sister’s alarming experience with her previous fiancé still affects all of her interactions with me.”

Ernest folded his arms. “I won’t give you permission to seduce Eveline.”

“Perhaps,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, striding forward, “an agreement can be reached between the both of you. Lennox agrees not to have intercourse with your sister until their wedding, and you agree to allow him time with Miss Braddock as long as the interaction doesn’t occur in her bedchamber.”

Ernest and the Duke of Lennox eyed each other.

“I’ll accept those terms,” Ernest said, a hint of melancholy in his response, and held out his hand.

The Duke of Lennox glanced down, accepted Ernest’s hand, pumping once, then flicked his gaze toward the Duke of Roxburghe.

“I want your wedding date.”

“Absolutely not.” The Duke of Roxburghe turned and strode out of the room with the Duke of Lennox on his heels.

“You forced this situation upon me,” came the Duke of Lennox’s reply.

“This incident is a result of your actions,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, his voice fading down the hallway. “I warned you.”

Eveline couldn’t decipher the Duke of Lennox’s muttered retort, but she knew the words weren’t polite. A moment later, two doors opened and shut simultaneously.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, Miss Webb stifled a giggle, curtsied to Eveline, and exited the room, accompanied by Miss Fernsby-Webb, who escorted her sister to her chamber and then retired to her own.

“Do I need to stay?” Ernest asked, glowering across the hallway at the Duke of Lennox’s closed door.

“I doubt he’ll make a second attempt tonight,” Eveline said, attempting to keep her annoyance at Ernest’s interference under control.

Eyes narrowing, Ernest strode to her doorway and paused, his hand wrapping around the door handle. “None of your sisters gave me this much trouble.”

Eveline grinned. “Thank you.”

He slammed the door and stomped back to his chamber.

Though she very much wished for the Duke of Lennox’s return that evening, she understood he wouldn’t tempt her brother’s anger. Grumbling, she crawled under the coverlet and glared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep.

A creak reverberated down the hallway. Eveline froze, her breath catching, and strained her ears, listening for footsteps. She hadn’t heard a door open.

Who was prowling along the second-floor corridor?

Her door handle depressed, and Eveline’s heart stopped. Before she could react, the door exploded inward, revealing Humphrey’s face, which was twisted in rage. She screamed, struggling to free herself from the covers, which further tangled around her legs, and fell out of the bed, landing hard on the floor and knocking the breath from her lungs.

Humphrey vanished.

A sliver of early morning light, steaming through a crack in the drapes, struck her in the eyes, and she rolled onto her side with a groan, staring at the empty room.

It was just a dream.

“Eveline?” Ernest tapped on the closed door. “I heard you yell.”

“I had a terrible dream,” she replied, scrambling to her feet.