“How vile,” murmured Cordelia, hiding her smile behind her hand.
“He walks too quietly. Why, one moment, you believe yourself alone, and the next, there he is, behind you like some… some shadow in perfectly tailored boots!”
“Unforgivable,” Hazel said gravely.
“And, and!” Evelyn added with a sharp nod. “He always smells faintly of cedarwood and something else, something I can’t place. It is quite infuriating.”
There was silence then Cordelia asked, “You’ve noticed how he smells?”
“I… well, he stands very close when he’s being aggravating.”
“Ah,” Hazel said, fighting a grin. “Naturally.”
“And he smiles as though he knowsexactlyhow irritating he is, and he dares to enjoy it. It is not a kind smile. It is a victorious one. As though he’s just bested me in some battle I wasn’t even aware I was fighting.”
Cordelia and Hazel exchanged a long look.
“What now?” Evelyn demanded, folding her arms.
Cordelia gave her a fond, maddening smile. “I only hope my future husband irritates me so thoroughly.”
Hazel leaned toward Evelyn, her voice light. “Darling, do you realize that all the things youloatheabout him are minute details? The way he smells. The way he smiles. The silence before he speaks.”
“You have studied him,” Cordelia added with a mock gasp. “You are practically writing a dissertation.”
“I havenot!” Evelyn cried though color was rapidly rising in her cheeks. “I am merely attentive to my surroundings.”
“And to your Duke,” Hazel said, sweetly relentless.
“He is not my—” Evelyn broke off with a groan and flopped back against the seat. “You both make me want to leap from the carriage.”
“You’d probably land in his arms,” Cordelia pointed out playfully. “He walks quietly, remember?”
Evelyn gave them both a look of utmost betrayal. “You are both mad.”
Cordelia made a thoughtful noise. “Is that so? Then why is it you always speak of him with such… fervor? No other gentleman has inspired so much conversation from you. Certainly not Lord Painswick, and he wrote you poetry.”
“Poetry riddled with spelling errors,” Evelyn muttered, shuddering at the thought.
“Ah, and yet not a single mention of it since. But the Duke… oh, we hear about him constantly.” Hazel’s eyes twinkled. “His arrogance, his flowers, his books, his voice?—”
“Stop it at once!” Evelyn covered her ears, laughing despite herself. “You twist my words.”
“Do we?” Cordelia asked innocently. “Because the way you ranted about his handwriting the other day, what was it? So precise it’s infuriating? That sounded rather like admiration to me.”
“It was not!” Evelyn insisted, trying to maintain her scowl. “It was… a general observation.”
“Mhm,” Hazel said, exchanging a knowing glance with Cordelia. “And when he kissed your hand at the manor, your face was red as a rose.”
“I had a chill,” Evelyn objected at once. “It was draughty. And I don’t see how this is relevant.”
“It’s relevant because,” Cordelia said with a teasing grin, “you are absolutely smitten.”
Evelyn groaned, dropping her head against the velvet carriage wall. “You two are impossible.”
“But delightful,” Hazel teased, tossing her curls. “And entirely correct.”
Evelyn opened one eye to glare at them. “I do not like him. I loathe him. Even the way he breathes infuriates me, let alonethat way he smiles as though he knows every secret I’ve ever had?—”
