“A jealous woman might walk away from a marriage, too—before it happens.”
Gabriel sighed. “Why don’t you just admit it’s not going to be all that onerous having this lady as your wife?”
“Because I will never be able to trust her,” Dominic said simply.
“Because of her brother?”
“Exactly because of him.”
The widow had arrived after all and didn’t bother to knock as she was quite familiar with Dominic’s room. “What am I doing here, Dominic? You and I parted amicably, but you were clear you were done with me.”
He ignored the pouting tone. Lady Priscilla looked exceptionally pretty today in a dark violet pelisse and gown, amethysts glittering at her neck and ears. The colors went so well with her blond hair and violet eyes, but then she knew that. Her beauty had never been in question, and she’d been widowed young. She was a few years younger than he was. And rich. It’s too bad he’d only been attracted and not quite smitten by her.
He offered Priscilla a smile and patted the side of his bed to beckon her forward. “You’re looking splendid as usual, Cilla.”
She grinned slightly. “Yes, and just for you, though I don’t know why I would bother.”
“I could use your company for a week or two, if you have no pressing plans.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I do have plans, the first grand ball of the Season, which is next week, and I’m not about to miss it. I intended to leave for London tomorrow. But I suppose I could stay one night if you’ve missed me. And you’re already in bed.” She grinned. “I can take a hint.”
She came over to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and leaned forward to kiss him. He put an arm around her waist to keep her there, but ended the kiss before it encouraged her even more.
“You didn’t hear of my last duel with Robert Whitworth?”
“London gossip takes a while to reach York.” Priscilla leaned back. “You refer to the second duel?”
“There was a third.”
“Goodness, what did he do to warrant so many? He thinks you’re unhinged, you know, at least that’s what he’s telling anyone who asks. He says that you imagine he committed some slight. No one really believes that.”
“What do they believe?”
“That it’s some woman, of course, that you two are fighting over. Who is she?”
“Let’s not discuss that, but rather the results of the duel.”
“Fine,” she pouted. “That’s such a bad habit you have of never giving me anything juicy to pass along. What results?”
“I was wounded. It was serious, but I am already on the mend. However, because of it I’ve been ordered to marry into that despicable family by the Crown Prince, to end the animosity, as it were. And the only way to make it not happen is if Whitworth’s sister refuses me and leaves.”
“Leaves? She’shere?”
“Right here,” Brooke said from the open doorway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
BROOKE SHOULD HAVE HADlunch first. She should have refrained from finding out why Dominic’s door had been left open. That reason was eyeing her curiously. The young woman sitting on the edge of Dominic’s bed with his arm around her was beautiful, elegant, and had a worldly air. Brooke felt as if she were fresh out of the schoolroom, and in fact she was. And out of her depth.
“You must be Brooke Whitworth?” the young woman said. “I’d heard Robert had a sister who would be enjoying her first Season in London this year, but this is a far cry from London, isn’t it?”
“You know my brother?”
“Who doesn’t know your brother? Such a handsome young man, quite dashing, though he’s considered a bit of a rakehell.”
Brooke was surprised to hear that, but not by Dominic’s scowl when he corrected the lady, “A blackguard is all he is.”
“Yes, yes, your sentiments are well-known”—the woman patted his cheek—“but the mystery is why? Why do you harbor such virulent antipathy toward Robert Whitworth?” She glanced at Brooke again. “Do you know why?”
