The balcony was small, barely six by six feet but Edward paced it, trying to walk off the aggravation in his stomach.
“Do you care to tell me what happened to make you so irate?” Felton asked calmly. “Or you can continue to stomp a trench into the floor.”
Finally, Edward paused and let his shoulders sink. “Why did I think that talking sense into a diehard rakehell would make any sense? Rakes are like leopards; they cannot change their spots.”
Leaning on the wall near the door, Felton lowered his brows, “What on earth are you talking about man?”
“Rutledge,” Edward took the glass from his friend's hand and threw back the rest of his drink before grimacing at the ungodly burn. “He ruined a young girl, and I tried to talk him into doing the honorable thing and marrying her.”
Grunting, Felton muttered, “I believe you might be at the last place in a very long line of such appeals to Rutledge. The man is notorious for ruining young women, ladies or not.”
Bracing his back on the railing, Edward rubbed his eyes, “The thing is, I do not want to force my hand, but I will if I need to do so.”
“How?” Felton cocked his head.
“Don’t worry about that,” Edward replied. “Aren’t there times when you see the hypocrisy and uneven playing field we give our women and men? The men can go and sew a thousand and one wild oats, and no one bats an eye, but when the woman is foundout to be the second party in that sewing, she is nailed to a cross and crucified without mercy.”
Shaking his head, Felton added, “It is disgusting.”
Shooting a look through the frosted glass and to the room beyond, Edward admitted, “I don’t know if I can go hunting and not be tempted to put a bullet in him.”
Laughing, Felton said, “You can easily say you misfired.”
Shaking his head, Edward replied, “I don’t want you to be indicted as a co-conspirator. I’ll simply take my aggression out on the prey instead.”
Clapping him on the shoulder, Felton nodded, “Smart man.”
Sitting in a curricle chair near a window, Alice varied her attention between the view out the window and the sewing she had on her lap. The gown on her lap was one she wanted to wear to an upcoming ball, but the style was outdated, and she had to overhaul it.
It was midday, hours when her aunt was abed napping and so was Eliza, while Penelope had gone out with two friends of hers from school, and so she had time to herself.
Was the Duke sincere in wanting to help me? He should be; I paid him with the kiss.
Looking back at the moment, she bit her lip; it had been careless of her to kiss him there, even while it had not been out in the open, those men—and woman— could have easily found them.
Dropping the needle to her lap, she slumped. The moment he’d cupped her face, the hungry, heated, intense look in his eyes had made her shiver to her slippers.
The moment his lips had touched hers, she had tasted his insatiable intent. While she had never felt a man’s lips on hers and she knew she had responded with unrefined motion, nothing about the kiss had been innocent.
It was dark, forbidden, lustful; his darkly masculine flavor permeated her senses—a hot promise of more wicked things to come had rushed through her blood.
Sighing, she redirected her attention to the dress on her lap and went to stitch the length of lace under her bust—when she heard footsteps coming near her.
“I’ll have luncheon be sent up soon, Aunt,” she said without looking up. “I just need a moment.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Eliza said, and Alice nearly skewered her opposing thumb with the needle.
Alice found herself tongue-tied for a moment. Eliza never spoke to her unless it was with a complaint. “Elizabeth?” She regained her composure. “Erm… can I help you?”
Her cousin fixed her bonnet before sitting on a chair across from her. “I want to ask you about you and Marquess Brampton. Isn’t it such a dream, Alice? It is all you, I, and dear Penelope have hoped.”
“It is,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to Eliza’s ankle. “How is your foot?”
“Oh, it all healed up,” Eliza said, her blithe tone showing how inconsequential—and false—her injury was. “But back to your Marquess. Has he given you any indication that he will seriously court you?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet, but I do hope so.”
Leaning in, Eliza asked, “What do you think about His Grace asking Penelope to be his dinner partner? Do you not think that was telling?”
