And he was still as useless as a ham.
He could make Miss Christabella come, but he could not make her agree to be his duchess.
“I was not the one who suggested it,” his brother denied.
“You could not stop staring at her from the moment you first saw her,” he countered. “I had hoped the two of you might suit. You simply needed the proper motivation. A wager seemed just the thing.”
“The devil. You mean to tell me that this whole time, whilst I thought I was helping you to find a bride,you, my virginal, saintly brother, were actually helpingmeto acquire a bride?”
Gill grinned at that. Grimly, of course. Because he was no longer as virginal as he had once been. And he was certainly not saintly. “Yes.”
“Confound it, Gill.” Ash’s outrage had returned. “Have you any idea how guilty I felt this last fortnight, believing I was lusting over the woman you wanted to make your duchess?”
The very notion of Ash lusting over Christabella—regardless of how much he loved his brother—made Gill long to do violence.
“You ought to have done,” he told Ash. “And if you had indeed been lusting after the woman I want to make my duchess, I would have planted you a facer.”
“The woman you want to make your duchess?” His brother’s gaze narrowed. “Are you saying thereissomeone else you want to wed in attendance at this house party?”
“There may be,” he hedged, mostly because he had no wish to reveal the full extent of his failure to his brother, who had never met a lady he could not charm out of her gown.
But Ash was no fool. “Not the hellion?”
His back stiffened at his brother’s insulting sobriquet for Christabella. She was wild, yes. And bold, no doubt. But she was his,damn it, and he felt deuced protective of her.
No, she is not yours, taunted a voice inside him.
God’s truth.She did not want to marry him. Unless he could find sufficient means of persuasion.
He busied himself with tying his cravat, trying to distract himself from the misery of her rejection and his subsequent withdrawal. “I have no notion of whom you are speaking. I do trust, however, that you would not refer to your future wife’s sister in such terms.”
“Who said I am marrying Pru?” Ash asked.
He raised a brow at his brother. “You. You have never once professed your love for a female to me. And from what I gather, the number of females with whom you have been on intimate terms is legion.”
“I am not proud of the manner in which I have lived my life,” Ash said, his tone as stiff as his bearing. “I have spent years chasing nothing but pleasure, telling myself it was what led to happiness. But I have discovered, quite belatedly, just how wrong I was. I do not deserve Pru, that much is certain. But I want to marry her.”
He knew the feeling. Well, part of the feeling. He had not spent his life chasing pleasure, but rather duty. And an attempt to avoid most social interaction. Christabella had made him realize he was stronger than he had believed. That perhaps with time and motivation, he could at least control his affliction, if not banish it altogether.
She had filled him with hope.
Until she struck it down.
Still, this was not about him and Christabella. Rather, this was about the brother he loved finding happiness at last, a happiness which he so richly deserved. “I am glad you have finally seen what has been plain enough to me. When will the betrothal be announced?”
“This evening,” Ash said, shocking him.
Too damned bad that Miss Prudence’s sister was not so hasty in her decision. And that she had an aversion to telling himyesunless it came to kisses and touching.
“Remarkably quick of you, Ash,” he pointed out, hating himself for the bitterness in his tone.
He should be happy for his brother.
And he was.
But for the first time, he also wanted happiness for himself. And he was beginning to fear the way he felt about Miss Christabella Winter could only be described in one fashion. In a fashion which involved a four-letter word that rhymed with dove.
“Yes, well.” Ash fiddled with his cravat, looking suddenly shamefaced. “I may have compromised Pru.”
