Lucien sat up straight in his seat, his fingers falling apart, pressing instead to the well-oiled surface of his desk. His knuckles went white with strain. “Pardon?”
His one-word response, an angry, disbelieving bark, made her flinch.
Yes, she had truly mucked this up. She could have done better. Knowing her brother as she did, she understood the manner in which to approach him: slowly and gently, much as one would a feral predator in the wilderness. He did not appreciate change or dissension.
But she was here to deliver both to him. Not to mention betrayal and disloyalty. Unforgivable sins, all of them. He would not know the last just yet.
She raised her chin. “I do not wish to marry the earl. I fear he and I do not suit.”
“Of course you suit. Do not be daft. I chose him for you myself.” Lucien frowned at her.
She frowned back. “Youchosehim?”
He made it sound as if he had bought Charles for her as if he were a puppy. And in truth, she would have preferred a puppy. Strathmore’s words returned to her then:My guess is, he selected Flowerpot for you, and told you to marry him.
It would seem he had been more accurate in his guess than she had realized.
Lucien flushed, which was a rare feat indeed for him. “I approached him initially about a potential alliance between the two of you. He was interested, of course, and chose to court you. From there, the rest is history.”
This was news to her, and she did not like it. “You approached him? Why did you never tell me this before, Lucien?”
His countenance changed, softening, becoming almost shamefaced. “It was not necessary, Violet. Ordinarily, a father would take on the task of securing a suitable husband for his daughter, but as ours is gone, I am all that is left. I want to see you settled and happy with a man who is even-tempered and kind, who is not a spendthrift or a rakehell, who will treat you with love and respect, as you deserve. Lord Almsley is that man.”
How easily he had figured it out. Anger grew, swelling with the force of a tempest within her, dousing all her guilt.
“You mean to say, he is that man, according toyou,” she argued, enraged with him for highhandedly deciding her future for her without bothering to ask her what she wanted.
And rage toward herself for so easily believing what someone else told her was best for her was true. She had always fancied herself an intelligent woman. Why had she never questioned her match with Charles until the appearance of one enigmatic, charming, beautiful-as-the-devil duke in her home?
“He is that man according to you as well,” he pointed out, a muscle in his jaw beginning to tic. “Or at least he was, until whatever nonsense you have gotten into your head appeared. If you are fearful over what happened on the carriage ride home, you need not be. I am stopping at nothing to find the villain responsible for the attack and bring him to justice.”
She shook her head. “It is not the shooting incident, Lucien. It is Lord Almsley. He is more interested in his plants than he is in me. His mother is a loathsome creature I shall be required to abide on a daily basis. And he does not even know how to give a proper kiss.”
But Strathmore does, reminded Wicked Violet.Oh, how he does.
She ought not to have said the last about kissing, and she knew it from the strangled expression on her brother’s face. He looked as if he wanted to beat someone to a pulp.
“You ought not to have had any experience in kissing at all, Lady Violet,” he snapped.
Oh, dear.She was once moreLady Violet, which meant she had vexed him greatly.
She paused, wondering what she should say next, how she could redeem herself. And then she told herself she had no reason to, that Lucien ought to redeem himself to her instead, for selecting such a boring man as her future husband, and never telling her he had approached Charles about a potential match. The revelation didn’t just smart her pride, it made her question everything.
It also made her quite certain her brother was a hypocrite.
“Have you any experience in kissing, Lucien?” she asked him pointedly, turning the tables on him.
His flush deepened, until even the tips of his ears went scarlet. He cleared his throat. “My romantic history is neither here nor there. We are discussingyou, my lady. When and where were you kissing Lord Almsley?”
If only he knew there was another man entirely he ought to be more concerned about her kissing. The realization made her feel rather smug. “That is neither here nor there,” she countered, parroting his words with a triumphant smile. “Suffice it to say, the earl is woefully lacking in the finesse such a skill requires.”
“And how would youknowsuch a thing, Lady Violet?” Her brother resembled nothing so much as a thundercloud at the moment.
Served him right, going about attempting to marry her off to the sort of manhe thoughtshe should wed. The sort of man, she understood in a moment of blinding clarity, he was certain would never do to her what Mama had done to Father.
“Oh, Lucien,” she said then, softening in spite of herself. “Did you seek to find the most boring man you could for me, so you could be certain he would never kill himself as Mama did?”
He went rigid, and she knew she had hit upon the truth. His overbearingness was borne of good intentions. No one had suffered more in the wake of Mama’s death than Lucien. He had taken off into the sea after her when the letter she had penned had been found. He swam until servants swam after him, dragging him, fighting all the way back to shore, before he collapsed from exhaustion himself. And it had been Lucien who had been determined to find Mama and bring her home to rest. He had combed the shores relentlessly, until he had discovered her, wet and pale and lifeless, still wearing her finest morning dress.
