How sobering.
How bloodyalarming.
“Ash,” chided Coventry. “We discussed this.”
“Ah, how could I forget?” Lord Ashley cast a derisive glance toward his brother the duke, his tone turning bitter. “I am to hide my past lest it muddy the waters for brother dearest as he attempts to find himself a bride. Familial obligations and all that rot.”
“Bugbears,” Coventry said. “I am yours. You are mine.”
“Bugbears indeed,” Rand grumbled. For he had more than a few of his own.
In fact, he had one in particular.
“Poor Gill has no choice but to wed because he inherited,” Lord Ashley informed Rand. “Our father was a reckless wastrel. Could not be trusted with a ha’penny. Now Gill gets to pay the price. However, he is not particularly known for his ability to woo the fairer sex.”
That was rather putting it nicely, if plainly, Rand thought. The Duke of Coventry was more painfully shy than a lady fresh from the schoolroom.
“You are his rearguard, as it were,” Rand suggested.
“Precisely,” Lord Ashley said. “Brilliant, Aylesford. I am my brother’s romantic rearguard. I save his army from impending doom. Particularly, Miss Christabella Winter.”
“Miss Winter is assisting me,” Coventry bit out.
“She is the wrong Miss Winter,” Lord Ashley argued with his brother. “You said you wish to marry Miss Prudence, did you not? She is the eldest and the loveliest of all the Winter sisters. Miss Christabella cannot compare. If you would simply cease spending all your time being distracted by the hellion and instead woo the woman you are meant to wed, your chance of success would increase immeasurably. Before someone else takes your place.”
“Here now,” Rand felt compelled to intervene. “I would argue Miss Grace is the loveliest of all the Winters by far. With her auburn hair and flashing green eyes, not to mention her perfect pink lips…”
He trailed off when he realized Lord Ashley and Coventry were both staring at him. And then he cleared his throat, his ears going hot.Sweet God, he was notflushing. He was not. He refused to believe it.
“In love, are you, Aylesford?” Lord Ashley taunted, his lips twitching.
No. Absolutely not. Bloody hell, no. Not a chance. Not now, not ever.
“Love?” he repeated, scoffing. “Such an emotion is better suited to fools and naïve women who sigh over silly novels filled with drivel. Do you not think?”
“I believe love is possible,” Coventry said.
“With Pru?” Lord Ashley demanded, his voice suddenly sharp.
“Pru?” his brother repeated, raising a brow.
“Miss Prudence Winter,” Lord Ashley amended, making a great show of flicking a speck of imaginary lint from the sleeve of his greatcoat as he held the reins in a loose grasp with his left hand. “You know to whom I refer.”
“I did not question whom but rather your familiarity,” the duke said pointedly.
“Go to the devil,” bit out Lord Ashley.
And then he spurred his mount into a gallop, taking off over the snow-covered valley stretching before them.
Puffs of white filled the air in his wake, and Rand steadied his mount before turning back to Coventry, who was watching his brother’s rapidly disappearing form in the distance with a curious expression on his face.
“He is angry with me,” the duke observed.
“So it would seem,” Rand agreed, noncommittally.
“I think he has fallen in love with Miss Prudence,” Coventry said.
Love, again?
