“What the fuck is he doing here?” Monty mutters under his breath.
It occurs to me now how strange it is that Monty continues to reside in the same city as his father when he despises the man. Does he remain close for Angela’s sake? Or sheer stubbornness?
Lord Phillips greets his daughter, who speaks to him with animated gestures. Monty hasn’t taken his glare off the man, not even when Angela hurries back to us.
“Father came to fetch me from the station,” she says, still showing no sign of the disdain Monty has. Though she does lower her head slightly at the sight of Monty’s clear unease. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d come. I know you don’t like to see him?—”
“Angela,” Lord Phillips says, taking a step our way. Monty’s glare darkens. “Go get settled in the coach. Mr. Jones will gather your luggage.”
She gives another apologetic look to Monty. “Thank you for chaperoning me. It truly was a lovely weekend.” She turns to me next. “And it was so wonderful meeting you and getting to know you. I hope we can see more of each other in the future.”
I don’t get a chance to reply before she joins the servants, and the maid escorts her away. I’m glad for the missed opportunity to speak, for I haven’t a clue what to say or how to act in front of Lord Phillips. And Monty clearly has no desire to linger.
“Let’s go,” Monty says under his breath while his father waves at Angela.
Before we can take a step away, Lord Phillips stops Monty with a hand to his arm. “I’ll have a word.”
“You won’t,” Monty says with an air of lazy annoyance, his countenance shifting into the version of him I used to know best. Casual, flippant, arrogant. “We were just leaving.”
“I’ll have a word,” his father repeats, tone stern, his hand still clutching Monty’s forearm.
I expect Monty to shake the man off. Lord Phillips doesn’t appear to be particularly strong, and Monty doesn’t seem afraid of him. Yet instead of arguing, Monty slouches, eyes wandering around the crowded platform as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “Make it quick. I have things to do.”
Lord Phillips ushers Monty to where he stood when we disembarked. My pulse quickens as I find myself standing alone, unsure if I’m meant to follow them. I’m annoyed by Monty’s lack of attention, but perhaps it’s intentional. An act. He hasn’t so much as spared me a glance since his father spoke to him.
I shift awkwardly from foot to foot as I stare at the hem of my skirt. I know I shouldn’t care what Monty’s father thinks of me, but I’m suddenly grateful I wore my spare dress—the onenotcovered in smears of graphite—instead of my workday attire.
“Why are you here?” Monty asks in a lazy drawl that barely carries over the din of the crowd. His voice would be lost to me completely were it not for my keen fae hearing.
“When Angela said you were bringing a friend to the wedding, I wanted to see her for myself,” Lord Phillips says.
My cheeks blaze hot, and I consider forcing my focus away, tuning out of my hunter’s senses so as not to eavesdrop. But when he speaks again, I can’t resist listening.
“So, you’re courting someone after all. You remember your bargain?”
I frown. What bargain is he referring to? Does he somehow know about mine and Monty’s? But no, that’s not what this feels like. This feels like something I don’t have enough context for.
“Yes, I remember my fucking bargain.” Monty has lost his indifferent air now, revealing his true annoyance. “This has nothing to do with that.”
“That’s not what it looks like. Who is she?”
“She’s no one,” he says through his teeth. “She means nothing to me, so don’t get your hopes up.”
His words drive a spear through my heart. I know there’s a reason for what he says. He told me and Araminta how he refuses to further his father’s legacy. How he convinced his father he’d never marry and that courting someone would bring Lord Phillips’ unwanted attention right back to him. Not only to him, but his lover too.
“Is she from a decent family?” Lord Phillips says. “What does her father do? Is her mother a respectable woman?”
I bristle. It doesn’t take much to imagine how horrified he’d be to discover my father’s occupation iscowering after copulationand my mother is respected but not at all respectable, as far as his definition would go.
“Like you have a right to ask about one’s mother.” Monty’s tone darkens, though I don’t know what he means by that.
“At least she’s fae,” his father says, and I can feel Lord Phillips’ gaze on me.
Every instinct begs me to meet his eyes and bare my teeth. To snarl at him, like I did the boxer who fought Monty at the club. But I don’t.
Lord Phillips speaks again. “A fae bride is perfect. Well done?—”
“Did you not listen to a goddamn word I said? We aren’t courting. There is nothing between us.Nothing. And there never will be. So stop praising me like I’ve done a damn thing worth your admiration.”
