“Like a dashed horse? Wick is his own man. You ought to let him do as he pleases.”
“And you ought to stop trifling with him.” The words were filtered through his teeth, if not his brain. Through the haze of anger, he registered that Wick had slipped away. Bloody coward. Well, he would deal with his brother later—after he dealt with this recalcitrant little flirt.
“For crumpet’s sake, I’m not trifling with him. He is myfriend,” she insisted.
“Yourpetit amiperhaps,” he said scornfully.
Her cheeks flushed. “Not all of us have that… that lovey-dovey nonsense on our brains, you know. I don’t even understand what that fuss is all about!”
That startled him momentarily. A coquette like her didn’t understand that…fuss? Surely, she was being coy—playing one of her little games.
In tones that brooked no refusal, he said, “I want your word that you’ll stay away from Wick.”
“You’ll get no such promise from me.”
Enmity crackled between them. His blood pounded, the pressure in his veins rising.
“This is no lark, by Jove. Wickham’s life is at stake,” he growled. “You’re no good for him.”
“I’mno good?” Her eyes blazed.
God, he hated how women always twisted his words. “That is not what I said—”
“Well, you’re nothing if not consistent when it comes to judging my character,” she snapped. “To think I was going toapologizefor our prior encounter.”
“I don’t expect an apology from you,” he said flatly.
Females, as far as he knew, didn’t admit a wrong. They were more apt to feign innocence over their wrongdoing (as the erstwhile object of his affections, Miss Lucinda Belton, had done), burst into tears (Lady Audrey’s wont), or pretend it never happened (his mama’s preferred strategy).
“I’m not going to apologizenow. Now all I want to do is push you into a fountain again,” Miss Kent said, her hands balled into little fists.
“You didn’t push me. I slipped,” he bit out.
“Care to give it another go and see what happens?”
Raw and powerful emotion tested his restraint, yanked at his self-control the way an unbroken stallion might at the reins. Staring into her flashing eyes, he knew an unholy urge. A crazed desire to grab her, hold her,makeher surrender to him. He leaned in—
“There you are, Violet.”
The crisp female tones jolted him back to reality. Chest burning, he forced himself to step back at the approach of the Duchess of Strathaven. A petite and buxom brunette, Her Grace had clear brown eyes which were probably quite fine when they weren’t narrowed suspiciously upon one’s face. She arrived at her sister’s side, her tall, black-haired husband a step behind.
Gathering himself, Richard bowed. “Your Graces.”
“Carlisle.” Strathaven’s acknowledgement was cool.
Despite the fact that both he and Strathaven were Scotsmen, and their estates were located in neighboring counties, their acquaintance was passing at best. They had little in common, and, frankly, Richard didn’t approve of the other’s lifestyle. For years, the wealthy duke had filled Society’s scandal pages with his affairs, each more licentious than the next. It was widely said that Strathaven’s second marriage had transformed him from rake to devoted husband; judging from the duke’s protective stance behind the duchess, Richard judged that this was likely true.
It still didn’t make him like or trust the man.
“Come along, Violet,” Her Grace said briskly. “You’re wanted elsewhere.”
The duchess took her sister by the arm. Miss Kent aimed one glowering look back at him before allowing herself to be led away.
Strathaven lingered. His celadon gaze was icy. “Watch your step around my family, Carlisle.”
The warning got Richard’s back up. “Is that a threat?”
“I don’t make threats. Only promises.” Strathaven turned smoothly to follow the ladies, his voice trailing behind him. “I’ll be watching.”
