“No such poison exists,” Hertford said, grinning, “else all the marriage-minded mamas would have armed themselves with it long ago.”
Lovewasthe poison, as far as Rand was concerned.
“Three of the five Winters are betrothed,” Lord Ashley pointed out. “There are only two remaining, and my brother has his heart set upon making a match with the eldest of them, which means there will soon only be one.”
“The eldest?” Warwick asked, his brow furrowed. “I confess, there seems to be so many Winter sisters about, and as I have eyes for only my own betrothed, I have the devil of a time telling them apart.”
“The long Meg,” Lord Ashley elaborated.
Everyone knew who the tallest Winter sister was, as she stood a head above the rest. She possessed the height of her brother, but fortunately, a far more ladylike countenance.
“An excellent choice,” Hertford told Coventry. “Miss Prudence Winter is quite kindhearted.”
Coventry, ever sparse of words, merely flashed a tight smile. “Quite.”
“He has set his heart upon her, despite her outspoken nature,” Lord Ashley said, his tone one of disapproval. “I told him he would do better to find a more biddable sort.”
“Biddable and the Winter sisters are as disparate as fire and ice,” Rand could not resist warning. “If Coventry is seeking a quiet bride, he would do better to search for one elsewhere.”
“That is what I told him,” Lord Ashley said, an edge to his voice, his jaw rigid as he exchanged a glance with his brother. “But he will not listen to reason. As I have promised to aid him in his cause, I can do nothing but sit idly by and watch him commit this folly.”
“I need a wife,” Coventry said. “You know this.”
“Yes.” Lord Ashley’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Thanks to Father’s profligacy.”
“The sins of the fathers are oft cast upon the sons,” Hertford said. “I understand your plight all too well.”
Rand’s father, the duke, was not a wastrel,thank Christ. In fact, unlike most peers in his acquaintance, he liked his father, which rather set him apart. He had no painful upbringing, no need for a wealthy bride to replenish the dust-ridden familial coffers.
All he needed was Tyre Abbey.
At least, that was what he told himself as he listened half-heartedly to the chatter around him and sipped at his brandy. But there was one face that rose in his mind, impossible to escape, regardless of how much he attempted to bury himself in drink and amusement.
That face was hers.
Grace’s.
And the longing that rose within him with each new thought of her seemed to grow stronger and more vibrant. He had kissed her just last night. What they had shared in the gardens had left him wanting more.
But wanting more was foolhardy and reckless.
Lord Ashley raised his glass in a mock salute. “A toast to all of you. It would seem I am the only one of us who intends to escape this house party with his future intact.”
Rand drained another measure of brandy, feeling even more grim than he had before. He had what he wanted, he reminded himself. Word had already been sent to his grandmother. Lord willing, Tyre Abbey would be his sooner rather than later.
And then, he and Grace could put an end to this farce.
Why the thought left him with nothing but a hollow ache in his chest, he would not ponder.
The sisters endedthe evening as they so often did—gathered together in one another’s chamber. This time, they had all descended upon Pru’s bedchamber for their meeting of the minds.
“Has he said when he will turn overthebook to you?” Christabella asked Grace. “Now that you are betrothed and he has what he wants, I should think it only reasonable for him to make good on his word. What need does he have of the volume anyway? He is an experienced rake. Surely he is already in possession of the knowledge it contains.”
Grace sighed. “He will not return it until he is assured his grandmother, the dowager, will bestow Tyre Abbey upon him. She would not do so until he could provide a betrothed.”
“That vagabond,” Christabella said.
“He is an utter pirate,” Eugie agreed. “Surely being in a feigned betrothal with him cannot be worth it. Perhaps we should all just go to Dev and admit Lord Aylesford is in possession ofThe Tale of Loveand that he is using it to force your hand.”
