“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 handlinghim,” 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.
Chapter Five
The Viscount of Brimwood was a man of firm opinions and very little imagination. That much Robert had gathered within the first five minutes of being seated in the old gentleman’s study, a room that smelled faintly of dust, pipe smoke, and masculine self-importance.
“She’s an odd one, my Evelyn,” Lord Brimwood said, pouring himself a brandy and neglecting to offer one to his guest. “Headstrong, too clever for her own good. Always asking questions, always arguing. Not at all what one expects from a girl of her breeding.”
Robert sat, composed as ever, with one leg crossed over the other, and his gloved hands folded over his knee. He said nothing.
Lord Brimwood continued, as if in confession to a comrade. “She holds a grudge, you know. Like a terrier with a rat. Once she has it in her teeth, there’s no letting go. But that’s the folly of youth.She’ll settle once she’s wed. A firm hand and proper guidance are all she needs.”
Robert’s jaw twitched, just barely. He watched the firelight flicker along the carved edge of the hearth and made no reply.
Lord Brimwood cleared his throat and looked pleased. “It’s a good match. The name, the title… God knows she needs it. You’ll find her strong-willed but not untrainable. In time, you’ll mold her into a fine wife.”
Robert’s gaze shifted.
“I am not in the habit of training wives, My Lord.”
Brimwood blinked, laughed as though it were a jest, and clapped his hands on his knees. “You’ll do what’s needed, I’m sure. A woman needs a man who can lead her.”
Robert didn’t reply. He merely inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment.
“I do believe the announcement at the end of the month will suffice,” Lord Brimwood continued. “It allows the ton just enough time to speculate without growing tiresome.”
Robert nodded again, just once. “As you wish.”
“And the contract,” the man added. “I’ll have my solicitor prepare a draft. You shall receive it by week’s end if not sooner.”
Robert refrained from shrugging. These formalities did not matter to him. The date. The contract. The damn ceremony. It was all ceremony. Paper and ink and obligations. Nothing of substance, at least not yet.
“Of course,” Lord Brimwood went on, his voice lowering slightly as if preparing to shift into a more personal register. “Your father… he’d be glad to see you settled…” He stopped, realizing he had crossed the line.
Robert’s eyes lifted slowly, and though his face betrayed nothing, there was something in his gaze that made Lord Brimwood hesitate.
“Yes, well,” the man said with a vague clearing of the throat, “families are delicate things, aren’t they?”
