Page 7 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)

Briar sniffed. At least with this marriage, even though the property would not be hers or in her name, she could keep the home in Bath that was full of memories of her happy upbringing and most of her childhood.

Her throat worked at the threat Preston held over her head.

Would he sell it if she didn’t behave? If she did not conduct herself accordingly? The thought grated.

“Of course, my lord,” she managed politely when he released her jaw.

She hoped it wouldn’t bruise, but perhaps it was a blessing that her light brown skin hid a lot more than a fairer complexion would.

Preston was fond of furtive pinching whenever he was displeased, as the backs of her arms, currently hidden by long gloves, could attest.

The pinches were of little consequence. They did not happen often, unless she incited him for some mundane reason.

Once they were married, she would be sure to stay out of his reach…

and his petulant, self-righteous temper.

For now, she would endure. Weaving her fingers together in front of her, Briar watched enviously as the dancers whirled by in a rousing polka.

Those were glorious fun, especially in the company of her friends.

Her feet itched to join them, but a dance or two was a fair sacrifice for a husband who would ultimately leave her to her own devices.

At least, that was the plan. It required some finesse on her part to convince Preston that she was demure enough to satisfy his expectations of a wife and yet be insipid enough for him to ignore…

so he would seek out a mistress for companionship.

She was in the minority, Briar knew. No ne of her fierce friends would ever tolerate if their husbands wandered.

Not that those men would …they were all stupidly, irrevocably in love with their wives.

And her friends deserved every happiness.

Envy tugged at her, but a union like theirs wasn’t in her future.

Briar didn’t need love…she needed autonomy and space to fulfill her true calling.

The right husband would ensure that. She had income from her stories to help other women.

She had a place at Lethe. She would continue her work with the suffragettes, fighting for women’s rights. She would be fulfilled .

She could handle Preston and a few peeved pinches.

If she made herself invisible, he’d lose interest in her.

Still, Briar exhaled a soundless sigh when her best friends whirled by with their partners.

Nève and the stoic Montcroix, Laila and her smitten marquess, Vesper and the boy-next-door she’d loved practically forever, and lastly, Effie and her devoted Scottish duke who was once called the worst duke in London by the Times .

If Briar ever met a person who looked at her the way Vale looked at Effie, she wouldn’t give a hoot what the newssheets wrote.

A redheaded rogue with a wicked smirk pranced over her vision. Briar snorted. Lushing didn’t look at her like that; he looked at her with utter exasperation. Like he wanted nothing more than to put her over his knee…

She went breathless. No, Briar, do not go there.

Swallowing hard, she tugged at her collar but dropped her hand at a censorious noise from Preston. She bit her lip, reminding herself that she had to get into his good graces.

Her mind, though, kept wandering. Was Lushing’s engagement one of convenience like hers would be?

Did he even like Penelope? She would wager that the cocky libertine wouldn’t know true love if it bit him in the arse, but then again, he was about to propose, so maybe that had changed.

Penelope was the season’s diamond, and there wasn’t a soul alive who wasn’t won over by Lushing.

Despite their constant bickering, he was likable .

And deep down under all that self-aggrandizing, he was kind.

When he followed her into seedier areas of London, he was being considerate.

Like a friend or brother would. She would know—she had four of them, and eluding their constant hovering had become a study in strategy and subterfuge.

Her elder brothers weren’t so bad, given the substantial age differences between them, but the youngest—a trained police inspector—was harder to trick.

She adored Levi, ten years her senior, but he was no fool.

That was why he’d taught her how to defend herself.

The strains of a quadrille started, and Briar bit back another sigh as her stolid companion made no move to ask her to dance.

Not that she expected him to, but a girl could hope.

Surely a modest quadrille would be acceptable.

She sent him an imploring gaze, which he ignored.

Instead, he marched away to converse with another guest, leaving her alone to hold up a pillar like a sad, rejected wallflower.

“Enjoying the ball, Sweetbriar?” a deep voice drawled from behind her.

Briar hid her smile and ignored the warm rush in her chest. “I don’t think your future bride will appreciate you calling another woman by a nickname, Lord Lushing.”

He propped a shoulder onto the nearest pillar. “Future bride? What have you heard?” He chuckled when she rolled her eyes. “Or rather, what has my loose-lipped sister told you?”

“My lips are perfectly tight, I’ll have you know,” Vesper said, appearing with the Duke of Greydon, her eyes bright. “Ask my darling husband.”

“Vesper!” Effie chided with a horrified giggle as she too arrived on the arm of her Scottish spouse.

It was as though they’d been waiting for Preston to leave, or perhaps the timing of the end of the set was simply coincidence.

Briar didn’t think so, however. Preston had an air of moral superiority that she knew her friends disliked.

“Don’t mind your sister, Lushing, she’s utterly foxed,” Effie said.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it, Aspen my love?” Vesper crooned to her duke. “You always say my mouth is like my?—”

With a choked sound, Greydon covered her lips with his palm.

He had his hands full with his vivacious, outspoken wife whom he adored with every bone in his body.

Every bone, as Vesper had boasted to the Hellfire Kitties more than once.

God love her, but her tongue was even worse than Briar’s, and Briar spent her days with countless courtesans.

“Where are Nève and Laila?” Briar asked, taking pity on the duke and redirecting the conversation before Vesper started spilling all their private bedroom secrets.

Effie pointed over her shoulder. “Getting refreshments or canoodling in a corner. We are never quite sure which. Canoodling, I suspect, since they have vanished quite suspiciously.”

“No one told me canoodling was an option,” the Duke of Vale rumbled, his eyes sparkling as Effie laid her head on his arm with a flirty wink.

Love had transformed dear Effie, too. She was glowing with the confidence of a well-loved woman, and she no longer stayed out of the public eye like an oddity who didn’t belong.

No, she celebrated her eccentricities. Her besotted mountain of a Scot would have had something to do with that.

“Good things come to those who wait, Your Grace,” Effie teased, but she didn’t protest as her duke tugged her toward the balcony, and she waved a half-hearted goodbye to them.

Briar’s chest squeezed. Her friends were all deliriously happy, and she felt…

a curious melancholy. Preston already hated them.

He’d previously made comments that they were dangerous women with dangerous ideas.

Briar bit back a snort. Little did he know that the Hellfire Kitties made danger look like an afternoon stroll in the park.

“Where’s your viscount?” Vesper asked, the title emerging like something sour.

Her best friend thought she was settling, and while it wasn’t untrue, Vesper didn’t know that there were other things of importance at play.

Like saving the only home she’d ever known.

Like continuing her work with the women at Lethe.

Like marrying a man who would not get in her way.

She surveyed the ballroom and saw Preston standing near Penelope.

“Over there talking to some people, including your future sister-in-law.” Briar glanced at the earl, who, in typical Lushing fashion, wore an amused expression that gave no hint of his true feelings.

“Though your brother seems to be prevaricating as usual.”

Vesper leaned in with a scowl that she didn’t care to hide from anyone and made a gagging noise.

“That chit is bloody awful. A doormat has more personality than she does. I have no idea why my idiot brother is so fixated on ruining his life with someone so lackluster and uninspiringly unoriginal that she makes seaweed scrapbooking seem like fun!”

Briar’s eyes rounded while Lushing arched an auburn brow at his sister’s exceptionally creative rant. “You got one thing correct, sister dear. It’s my life to ruin as I see fit with whomever I choose.”

“But why her?” Vesper whined and wrinkled her pert nose. “She’s such a…stick-in-the-mud. Briar, tell him!”

Briar huffed and shook her head. “Oh, no. Don’t involve me in your sibling squabbles. Besides, I happen to think that seaweed crafting is quite an interesting pastime, though arguably, it’s not for everyone. Margaret Gatty published quite an extensive collection, I believe.”

“Oh, a pox on seaweeding!” With a deepening sulk, Vesper pouted, gaze vacillating between them.

“You two should marry. Why won’t you? Everyone knows you’re perfect for each other, even if you don’t see it because you’re both stubborn and mutton-brained.

In fact, you should go dance and discuss this.

I deserve a wonderful sister-in-law! I deserve a Hellfire Kitty sister!

Don’t let Viscount Sackless ruin our chance at happiness. ”