“That tone doesn’t bother me, Monty. You know who my brothers are. They can cut a man to shreds with their tongues. You will need to try a great deal harder than that.”
Monty sighed. Insulting a Deville was like holding water in your hands—a fruitless task.
“Two questions, and then we return to the ballroom,” Michael added. “One. Are you in any danger?”
“What? No, why would you ask that?”At least, he didn’t think he was in danger.
“Two, is this mood related to Alexius or Iris Challoner?” Michael added.
“In part, both.”
“Which frustratingly just fills my head with more questions. I should have said four questions.”
“Perhaps you are not the most intelligent Deville brother after all?” Monty said.
“Now we both know that is untrue. For now, I will leave it, because I know you are not in danger. Let us know when we can visit, and you can tell us everything.”
“Perhaps I have no wish to tell you everything.”
Michael snorted. “I think we’ve explained to you how this friendship thing works, Monty. Don’t try to avoid us.”
“As you wish,” Monty said, feeling calmer and knowing that was because the Devilles had yet again shown him they cared, as did he.
He’d tried to convince himself he didn’t want to care, but Monty had been alone for so long. Until now, he’d not realized just how lonely he actually was.
He walked back inside with Michael Deville following and entered the ballroom smiling his Plunge smile. Strained and forced.
Searching the room, he first looked for Renton, and then Iris. The conversation he’d overheard filtered back through his head. Why had Renton said he wanted to control her? The entire conversation had left Monty concerned for Iris.
She’d been his childhood friend as he’d been hers. Yes, that was many years ago, but he still remembered and felt something for the girl she had once been.
He found her dancing. She moved with elegance and grace, a fact her partner, Lord Burton, seemed appreciative of. As did others watching.
“I say, Plunge.”
He raised a hand as if Sir Nigel simply wished to acknowledge him.
“Come here, you fool,” the man added.
“No need to be rude, Nigel,” Mary said. He hadn’t noticed her standing next to her mother and sister.
Monty wondered who Phillipa was hunting for as her future husband, now all the Devilles were taken.
“Rude?” Nigel scoffed. “The man wouldn’t know rude if he tripped over it in those ridiculous heels he wears. Would you, Plunge?” He scoffed loudly, making those around him laugh.
Mary got a certain look in her eyes when she was angry and about to seek retribution on someone. He saw it pass across her face.
“What is it you want, Sir Nigel?” Monty bowed deeply and schooled his features as the man drew closer.
He was everything Monty loathed about society. Rich, indolent, and obnoxious.
“I have heard you and Lady Challoner are old friends. Hard as that is for any of us to understand, considering—”
“Nigel, was that you yesterday I saw taking a tumble in the park? It appeared to me and my twin sisters that you tripped over your feet,” Lord Sinclair said. He was standing with his brother-in-law, the Duke of Raven, and had clearly overheard the conversation.
“What? Not me, Sinclair,” Nigel scoffed.
“Well, I wonder who else is called Nigel then and has your face, because the lady you were walking with screamed your name,” Lord Sinclair added. “God save us all if there are two of you.”
