“Positively hideous,” she grinned, and why did they despise each other again? Nestled in his embrace, her belly flush with butterflies, she was having a difficult time remembering. Adam may have been stubborn and generally disagreeable, but then so was she. Maybe that was why their horns came together more often than not. But it also broughtotherparts of their bodies together…in the most pleasing of ways.
When her gaze grew heavy-lidded and she peered up at him from her lashes, she discovered that he was already staring at her with an arrested expression, as if he were looking at a piece of art that he couldn’t quite figure out. He adjusted his grip, one arm sliding to her knees while the other tightened around her shoulders, and even though his arms must have been growing tired, he showed no signs of wanting to relinquish his hold.
“You are a unique woman, Eloise Rosewood.”
“Is that a compliment…or a complaint?”
“Both,” he said without hesitation.
“I take it that uniqueness is not a quality you are seeking in a bride.” Her words served as a much needed reminder as to his ulterior motive for attending the house party. Not to pluck her out of trees, but to find a wife–a wife thatwasn’ther. “I’m sure that you want a woman that is biddable, and obedient, and the same as all the rest.”
“Maybe.” A frown overtook his smile. “Or maybe not.”
“While you make up your mind,” she said coolly, “you can put me down.”
After a momentary pause, he did as she requested and placed her carefully on the ground, his fingertips lingering on the small of her back. “Will you be at the dinner later, or can I expect to find you in another tree? Maybe an alder or an elm this time. I saw several on my way up the drive.”
He was teasing her, but now that all she was capable of thinking about was him with another woman, a better woman, a moreladylikewoman, Eloise was in no mood for light banter.
“I’ll be there, although I doubt we’ll be seated next to each other. If luck is in your favor, you’ll find yourself between the Donegal heiresses and you can have your pick. Either one would make an exemplary wife.”
His brow furrowed. “Eloise–”
But she was already gone.
10
Mermaid
“If you plan to drinkbefore noon, you should really consider inviting Perth.” Flashing Adam a grin on his way into the drawing room, Ezra, Earl of Whitmore, followed a few strides behind by Graham, Viscount Croft, helped himself to a glass of brandy and then to a chair. Stretching out his six foot frame, he raised his glass in the air. “What are we toasting?”
“Family,” said Adam with ironic bitterness before he tossed back his drink and promptly poured another. In the four days since his arrival at Clarenmore Park, all of his carefully laid plans–plans that had been in motion foryears–had gone to complete and utter shit.
Lady and Lord Denbigh had abruptly sent word that they wouldn’t be attending the house party due to illness. There wasn’t a single female guest that sparked even the tiniest hint of interest. And Eloise, for reasons only she was privy to, wasn’t speaking to him. Nothing beyond a cordial conversation, that is, but he didn’t want her damned cordiality. He wanted her passion. He wanted her fire. He wanted her to make him feelalive. She was the only person that could, and now she wasn’t. Now she was behaving exactly like all of the ladies she claimed to abhor.
Polite, practical, perfect.
All of the traits he desired in a wife.
But then why didn’t he desire them in her?
Maybe because wild roses weren’t meant to be cut back, and when they were, it served no purpose other than to dull their natural, rambling beauty.
Taking a pensive sip of brandy, he flicked a glance at Graham, then Ezra. Both men appeared to be of reasonably sound mind. Both were physically athletic. Both were in possession of moderate to advanced intelligence. And both openly adored their wives. Or in Ezra’s case, wife-to-be. While Adam had never put much stock in the concept of marrying for love, he was starting to wonder if it didn’t have merit.
He’d wanted–he’d planned–to select a bride for the sheer purpose of upstaging Lord Denbigh and showing thetonthat even though he was a bastard son, he was better than his sire could ever hope to be. But once he had accomplished that, once he had shoved his success and superiority down the earl’s throat, what would he be left with? Forty plus years of marriage to a chit so bland and boring that he struggled to obtain a proper cockstand?
Perish the fucking thought.
“Do you’ve family on this side of the Atlantic, then?” Ezra studied Adam with curious, but not unfriendly gray eyes. “Thatiswhat you said we were toasting.”
“No, no family.” He brought his glass up again, then changed his mind. While it was a man’s natural inclination to drown his problems in a bottle of brandy, the pounding headache that would inevitably follow wasn’t worth the temporary reward of numbness. “None that I care to count, anyway.”
Graham, who had been mostly quiet for the entirety of the house party thus far, spoke up. “Then you’re truly here for business?”
“Have you heard otherwise?”
“We’ve heard all sorts of things,” said Ezra, wiggling his brows. “According to Perth, you’re here to run off with our women and set the mansion ablaze. If Lady Donegal is to be believed, you’re wife-hunting and on the brink of proposing to one of her daughters. Then there’s the rumors swirling that you’ve pursuing some sort of personal vendetta against a member of the peerage.”
