Dash it all. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. And yet… his mind wandered to Miss Meadowbrook’s other attributes…
* * *
When he came awake, he was staring up at his cousin’s concerned violet eyes.
“So you are alive.” Damien stepped back, brushing his hands together. Edgeworth stood across from Hunt, arms crossed, studying the mangled shape that barely resembled a foot.
The useless appendage, twice its normal size, was swollen and misshapen.
“Well,” Edgeworth declared. “This is inconvenient.”
“Doc assures me it isn’t broken,” Hunt said.
“A sprain can be just as bad. By the time you’re up and about again, your reluctant fiancée and that she-devil of a chaperone are like to have scurried back to that all-girls’ school by then.”
“She was here,” Hunt said.
“Miss Fortune?” Edgeworth frowned.
“No, Miss Meadowbrook.”
Damien’s brows rose. “Well, well, well…”
“With the doctor?” Edge asked.
“After the doctor left.” Hunt felt safe disclosing part of what had occurred earlier since he trusted these two men more than anyone.
“And…?” Edgeworth prompted.
“And she still insists she isn’t going to marry me, despite—” Hunt clamped his lips together. Revealing she’d been alone with him in his chamber was one thing, but beyond that would prove quite ungentlemanly.
“Ah…” Edgeworth read between the lines anyhow.
She’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d wanted more. But then she’d stopped—quite suddenly. Hunt could, of course, attribute her change of heart to a sudden awareness of propriety, and yet, it was almost as though she was doing the opposite of what she wanted.
As though she was protecting someone.
But that didn’t make sense.
“But why? If she truly doesn’t wish to marry you, why on earth would she put herself in such a vulnerable position?” Damien asked. “Something doesn’t fit.”
“That Miss Fortune certainly isn’t helping matters.” Edgeworth strolled across to the liquor cabinet and proceeded to pour himself a tumbler of scotch.
He lifted the bottle to Damien. “No, I’m good.”
“Pour me a double,” Hunt said. “I hadn’t realized you were so well-acquainted with the chaperone.” Edgeworth had been with Miss Fortune when they’d found them on the cliff path.
His friend frowned. “Blasted female goes on and on about the pitfalls of marriage—all the evils of the patriarchy in general. Likely, she’s put the fear of God into your little Miss Meadowbrook.”
Hunt lowered the glass before taking a draw.
Perhaps that was what all of this was about. The fear of being controlled by a man she hardly knew—of losing her independence.
That would certainly give any intelligent woman reason to hesitate.
The more he contemplated the notion, the more it made sense. “That’s got to be it. I could add an addendum to the marriage contracts—a few caveats to calm her fears.”
“Chattel.” Edgeworth nearly spat the word. “She insists that’s all wives are to men. And don’t get her started on the uselessness of males in general. That blasted Miss Fortune certainly lives up to her name. Misfortune.”
