He had no notion of what his sister had planned for Lady Virtue, other than that she was taking the chit away for the day. He strived his utmost to keep from knowing what was happening or when or where. The less he knew, the less his ward invaded his thoughts. Which was how he preferred it.
“I breakfasted long ago,” Lady Virtue informed him.
And that was another irritating quality she possessed—the innate ability to rise early. She was up and roaming the halls of Hunt House long before him every morning. Hence her current foray into his library. It was akin to harboring a band of enemy soldiers in his midst.
Only worse, because he wouldn’t be tempted to shag the enemy soldiers.
“Lovely, then.” He forced a smile. “Why don’t you go about doing something more constructive than pilfering my library before my sister relieves me of my unfortunate duties?”
Lady Virtue breezed past him, her seductive floral scent trailing after her. “Perhaps I’ll go for a ride on Rotten Row,” she called over her shoulder, apparently having decided he was dismissed.
Gritting his teeth, he stalked after her as she crossed the library. “It isn’t the fashionable hour. Only grooms will be about at this time of the morning, and that decidedly isn’t the place for a lady trying to ensnare a husband.”
“Fortunately, I have no intention ofensnaringa husband.” She stopped and whirled about, facing him once more. She wasn’t wearing a cap, and the sight of her tresses loosely pinned in a chignon was its own temptation. “Good heavens, Ridgely. You make the process sound like a hunter capturing a hare for his dinner.”
He raised a brow. “And how is it not? A husband, when caught, is often spit-roasted over the miserable flame that is otherwise known as marriage, much like his counterpart the rabbit. The hare rather has the better bargain, if you ask me. One is eaten for dinner whilst the other is slowly tortured, over the period of his lifetime.”
She pursed her lips. “Quite a grim sentiment from a man determined to see me unwillingly imprisoned in such a situation.”
“You possess the dramatics of an actress,” he drawled, keeping his expression a mask of indifference.
“I reckon if anyone should know, it would be you,” she returned saucily. “Likely having bedded half the actresses in London.”
The daring of Lady Virtue Walcot never failed to astound him.
“Ladies do not refer to such indelicate matters,” he scolded sharply.
Good God, if the minx went about speaking so brazenly in conversations, she would never secure a husband. And quite likely that was her intention.
She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m not a lady.”
Curse Pemberton for dying and saddling Trevor with his spawn.
“Youarea lady, and you’ll conduct yourself as one,” he gritted, “or I will see all the books hauled from this bloody house and burned.”
Her nostrils flared. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“You didn’t think I’d climb the ladder either. Try me, my dear.”
They glared at each other in silence, waging a battle of obstinacy.
Whatever she saw in his eyes apparently persuaded her to relent, because she sighed, some of the fight fleeing her figure. “Very well. I shan’t go riding. I’ll find something else to occupy me until Lady Deering is ready.”
With a curtsy that somehow felt like a rebuke, Lady Virtue turned and swept from the library with the majesty to rival any queen. Trevor watched her departing form, too afraid to wonder just what thatsomethingcould be. The less he knew, the better.
Pamela couldn’t see the girl married off soon enough. His duties would not be entirely absolved, but at least she would be beneath her husband’s roof where she belonged instead of tempting him here. He’d have to speak with his sister. Frowning, Ridgely went off in search of his breakfast.
CHAPTER2
Virtue pressed her head against the cool floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked Grosvenor Square and heaved a frustrated sigh, clouding the pane before her. The stately street in the distance below was obscured for a moment, which was just as well, for she had no wish to see the passing barouches and curricles conveying thebeau monde’smost fashionable lords and ladies to their destinations. Not any more than she wished to be here, awaiting an audience with the Duke of Ridgely.
Nor any more than she had wanted to be in London itself.
Ever since the discovery she was to be packed up like a piece of unused furniture and bundled off to the city and her new guardian, the Duke of Ridgely, her every day had been awash with dread and the fear that the life she had intended for herself might be forever beyond her reach.
A whirlwind had inevitably followed that bleak news. There had been the onerous travel from her haven at Greycote Abbey after a suitable period of mourning. Then meeting the duke for the first time—how startled she’d been to find him young and almost disturbingly handsome. Notoriously wicked too, as she’d quickly learn.
Then the subsequent and, she now reckoned, obligatory parade to a sea of society soirees, chaperoned by his sister. All the better to marry her off. Her fate in life, it seemed, was to be wanted by nobody, forgotten or ignored, passed along from one person’s care to the next. At every moment, Virtue was reminded that she must choose a husband, as it was what her father would have wished for her.
