She nodded. “For the wedding. It was small but one of the loveliest ceremonies I’ve ever attended. Have you had the pleasure?”
Prescott had draped one arm around his wife and his other lay atop the baby. The child was supposed to have been sired by the duchess’ late husband, but one only needed to lay eyes upon her to see she’d been sired by Prescott. She hadn’t inherited those black eyes from her mother, that was for certain.
“I have not. I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Miss Goodnight adjusted the dog on her lap. “Your father has certainly done his utmost to make life difficult for you in London, has he not?” There she went again. Marcus ought not to be surprised at her audacity.
“He has.” What was the use in denying it?
She appeared as though she would say more but then bit her lip.
“Come, now, Miss Goodnight, don’t hold back now. What is it you were going to say?” Apparently, he’d become something of a glutton for punishment.
She chewed her lip for a few seconds more.
“Out with it,” he demanded.
“It’s just that…” She met his eyes and then blushed inexplicably before looking away. “If you have no intention of meeting his demands, you might wish to up the ante. Put him on the defensive, so to speak. Do something to makehislife more difficult.”
Marcus’ brows shot up at her words. “You are a devious one, aren’t you?”
She opened her eyes wide, eyes he was now much more aware of. “Well, he thinks that if he causes you some unpleasantness, you will give in to his wishes, but what if you cause him an equal amount of unpleasantness in return?”
Obviously, Prescott had conveyed his situation to his duchess, and the duchess had conveyed it all to her friend. But the chit had a point.
He was surprised, in fact, that he’d not considered this aspect himself. His father had succeeded handily at putting him at sixes and sevens with his manipulation and strong-armed tactics. “And do you have anything specific in mind?” Might as well hear her out. Seemed she’d given the matter considerable thought.
Miss Goodnight shrugged but then furtively glanced toward the duchess and Dev. Ah, so, she would not reveal whatever she’d devised in the hearing of all and asunder. She became more and more interesting with each passing mile. “Oh, nothing specific really.” She yawned and turned her head to stare out the window. The lightning was no longer flashing, and the storm seemed to have settled into a steady drizzle.
Marcus leaned back in his own seat and chuckled. Perhaps Miss Goodnight’s point was a valid one. He’d be certain to seek her out over the next few days. She obviously had some rather interesting thoughts floating around in that brain of hers, and it just might behoove him to explore it.
The Dangers of Emily’s Brain
Lord Blakely had been right about the storm. Not thirty minutes later, the sun appeared and the road began to dry. Since Sophia had fallen asleep upon her husband’s shoulder, the gentlemen remained inside the carriage.
The journey was a short one, and Emily did her best to ignore the man sitting beside her. She’d grown all warm and mushy for him, once again, when he’d repaired her spectacles and then, oh, so tenderly, replaced them upon her person.
One minute, she’d been watching an unfocused blur of colors, and the next, she was gazing like a love-struck fool at his handsome face, which was closer to her than it had ever been before. Tiny crinkles edged his eyes, and she could even see the sharp little hairs appearing where he’d shaved earlier. He’d made certain the glasses sat securely when she’d reached up to adjust them herself.
She had placed her hands directly on top of his, which felt as though they were cradling her face.
The moment had felt so intimate as to send a jolt of a different type of lightning shooting through her. She’d had to turn away and focus on anything but the sensations he’d given rise to.
And so, the first thing that came to mind went flying out of her mouth.
Sophia had explained Lord Blakely’s unfortunate experience at White’s and at his other clubs. She’d even told her that many of the hostesses were being “encouraged” to withdraw invitations that had already been sent out to the earl.
His father most certainly was making things unpleasant for his only son.
And that angered Emily.
On numerous occasions since that night in the library, she’d wondered who Meggie was. And if the Duke of Waters had, in fact, murdered this Mr. Thistlebum. If he’d been behind such dastardly deeds, it was no wonder his son refused to do his bidding!
She hated that Lord Blakely was being chased away from London.
She hated it so much that her mind had gone to work, of its own accord, of course, at unraveling his precarious social situation.
Privy to information regarding Lord Blakely as a close friend of Mr. Nottingham’s, Cecily had told them that Lord Blakely had been quite successful with his shipping business. And so, Emily knew the earl did not lack for funds.
