They stared at each other, surrounded by the chattering of their fellow guests and the jangling of tack and plodding of horses on the street beyond. Hyacinth and her viscount were ensconced in their carriage now. Lottie really ought to take her leave, for there was nothing left to see, the wedding breakfast quite at an end.
But she found herself reluctant to leave the duke’s side. To put an end to their verbal sparring.
You truly ought to go, Lottie, she cautioned herself inwardly.Be practical for once. Forget all about the Duke of Brandon and his masterful kisses and that impressively thick ridge you had the fortune to feel swelling beneath his trousers.
But that was the thing about Lottie. She never did listen to her own good sense. And the wickedest part of her was remembering exactly how his cockstand had felt beneath herquesting hand. That part of her wanted more. Wanted to return to those stolen moments in the emerald salon.
This simply wouldn’t do.
“Never say you are jealous, Your Grace,” she taunted with a smile, careful to keep her voice low.
A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Jealous? Hardly, my dear. Warm his bed all you like.”
“Perhaps I have.”
“Lovely for the both of you, I’m sure.”
“Youdiddeny yourself the opportunity.”
“I do believe it’s called responsibility, my dear Lady Grenfell. Some of us have to bear it more than others, however.”
“You know nothing of what I’ve had to bear,” she told him frostily, thinking of Grenfell and the countless lovers he had flaunted before her and hidden in secret.
Each time she had discovered another infidelity, a new woman to whom he had given that most sacred part of himself that should have been reserved for her, Lottie’s heart had withered and died a little more.
“I could say the same, madam.”
They glared at each other some more, in a contest of wills.
Finally, she tore her gaze away in time to see the carriage bearing Hyacinth and Lord Sidmouth rumbling into motion. At last, it was done, their fates sealed. Her friend had been undeniably happy today, radiating a joy Lottie had never seen before. She hoped it lasted.
“And away they go,” she murmured. “I suppose that is that, then.”
As the carriage moved farther into the distance, the finality of the moment settled over her—the beginning for Hyacinth and her viscount, the end for Lottie and Brandon. If indeed there had ever truly been a beginning.
“I wish them happy,” Brandon said. “Sidmouth is a good man.”
“And Lady Sidmouth is a wonderful woman,” she pointed out loyally.
He looked over her shoulder then, a ferocious frown overtaking his features. “By God, where is he going with my bloody carriage?”
Lottie turned to follow the duke’s stare, finding a lacquered carriage bearing his ducal crest pulling past them into the street and moving away.
“Someone has thieved your carriage?”
“Not someone,” he muttered, passing a hand over his jaw. “Camden. He accompanied me here, and now it would seem he has decided to carry on without me.”
Lottie couldn’t quite stifle her laughter.
He slanted a wry look in her direction. “Amused, are you?”
“You must admit that it is rather humorous, the Duke of Brandon’s carriage being commandeered by his friend, leaving him stranded on the street. Will you take a hack home? Perhaps an omnibus.” She chortled again.
“I could walk. The day is a fine one.”
As he made the statement, a fine mist began to fall.
Lottie compressed her lips, trying and failing to keep from grinning. “You may accompany me, and I’ll see you home. I’d hate to be responsible for you catching an ague.”
