“Hazel Thornhill, Duchess of Callbury,” Chastity tested aloud. “Oh! It sounds so important.”
Patience clasped her hands to her heart. “You’ll have ladies curtsying toyou! That must feel extraordinary.”
Hazel pressed her lips together to avoid saying something she would regret. Extraordinary was not the word she would use.
Inescapable, perhaps. Overwhelming. Inevitable.
But as her sisters continued to gush and spin dreams in the air, Hazel simply nodded when expected, hummed in vague agreement, and sipped her tea like a woman bracing herself for an unstoppable storm.
Chapter Eight
“To your upcoming wedding!”
Jasper Everleigh lifted his glass high, with his grin wide enough to split his face. A few nearby gentlemen glanced over with mild curiosity, but Jasper had never minded an audience and Greyson never encouraged one.
Greyson stared flatly at the raised glass. “Put that down.”
“Oh, come now,” Jasper laughed. “I’m congratulating you.”
“It is no reason to celebrate,” Greyson replied, taking a measured sip of his brandy. “It is merely something that needed to be done.”
Jasper leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, yes, your favorite phrase. It needed to be done. How very romantic.”
Greyson set his glass down with a soft thud. “Romance is irrelevant.”
“That,” Jasper said, “is precisely why this is entertaining.”
Greyson ignored him and glanced around the club. The warm glow of gas lamps grazed him. The cigar smoke attacked his senses as it curled lazily in the air. He preferred the order of his study, but tonight, Jasper had insisted.
Jasper took another sip. “So… Miss Hazel Thorne.”
Greyson’s jaw tightened. “What of her?”
“She is a lovely woman,” Jasper said simply.
Greyson’s fingers paused around his glass.
He forced himself to relax. “I can see that.”
Jasper’s brows rose. “Can you?”
Greyson did not rise to the bait. “She is practical, sensible and disciplined. Those qualities are ideal for a duchess.”
Jasper smirked. “That’s not what I meant.”
Greyson looked away, studying the amber in his glass. “I know what you meant. I chose not to answer.”
“Because youhavean answer,” Jasper sang under his breath.
Greyson shot him a look sharp enough to silence lesser men. Jasper only grinned harder.
Greyson inhaled slowly, looking at the far wall as if pretending interest in the paintings. He had seen far more of Hazel Thorne than he should have. He had noticed her flushed cheeks and her trembling lips when flustered. And, worst of all, he remembered her scent when she stood close.
He pushed the memory into the farthest corner of his mind.
“There is nothing further to discuss,” Greyson said stiffly. “It is a marriage of convenience. She wants nothing more than that.”
“And you?” Jasper asked lightly.
