His brow furrowing, he made himself look at Evie.Reallylook. Something he hadn’t done since he had first seen her across a crowded ballroom where her breathtaking beauty had called to him like a siren singing out to a sailor. Right before she caused the poor bloke to dash his ship upon the rocky shoreline.
For the first time, he noticed that her traveling habit was nearly worn threadbare in several places and the buckles on her shoes were tarnished and old. She wore no jewelry, not even a modest pair of pearl earrings or an agate brooch, and the feathers on her hat had clearly been replaced more than once, the remnants of past thread not matching the new.
“Is there something on my face?” she asked, self-consciously swiping her thumb along her bottom lip.
“No,” he said gruffly.
“You’re staring.”
So he was. Averting his gaze, Weston held out his arm and waited until he felt the slight weight of her fingers pressing into his hand before he briskly hauled her to her feet. He knew he was being a tad rough with her. Roughonher. But the alternative–kindness, compassion, understanding–was not an option for the cold-hearted earl. Poor or not (and closer inspection had revealed that Evie was the very definition of genteel poverty), she was a thorn in his side that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
And now he had his solution.
Weston was a shrewd businessman, not a kind philanthropist, but he had donated a lofty percentage of his inherited wealth over the past decade to a variety of charitable organizations running the gamut from orphanages to hospitals. Evie was no charity, but if throwing money at her removed the vexing chit from his sight, what did it matter to him?
No to mention that his father, the Marquess of Dorchester, was likely to settle a large amount on his bastard, Joanna Thorncroft, whenever news reached of him of her arrival in London and the subsequent stir that had been created after thetonlearned that the marquess’ American mistress had given him a daughter.
Brynne may have wanted to become acquainted with their half-sister, but Weston had no such illusions regarding loving family reunions. For the love of God, they couldn’t even function properly as a family of three. Why the devil would they want to bringAmericansinto the mix?
By all accounts, Joanna was on her way back across the Atlantic.
Good riddance, as far as he was concerned.
But that still left Evie to contend with. The most dangerous of the Thorncrofts, to his mind, solely because shewasn’this half-sister. There was no blood shared between them. Meaning there was nothing to keep him from sinking his fingers into all those messy obsidian curls, pressing her against the oak tree…and ravishing her senseless.
Weston had never realized how closely lust and loathing were intertwined before he’d found himself tempted by a dark-haired hellion with the clear, crystal blue eyes of an angel.
“You’re staring again,” the hellion angel said crossly. “Has your mind been addled by the sun? It would explain a lot. Including why you’d lead us to be stranded twenty miles from the nearest village when there was another perfectly good road at our disposal.”
“We’re three miles,” he corrected. “And it’s hardly my fault the axle broke. I’ve gone this way a hundred times before and never had any issue. If there is blame to be given out, I assign it to you.”
Evie frowned. “What didIdo?”
Everything, he thought crossly.
And nothing.
Weston was a hard man. A heart of stone, his last mistress had said after he’d ended their eighteen-month affair with all the pomp and circumstance of dashing a cheque off to his tailor. But he was also a fair one. He acknowledged that inhermind, Evie believed the ring she sought rightfully belonged to her and her sisters. He couldn’t fault her for wanting it back. Not if his suspicions were true, and its return was necessary to their very survival.
Neither could he fault her for his own desires. Aside from a flirtatious exchange at the ball before either had realized just who the other was, she had not done anything to fan the flames of his ardor.
Why, then, had he pictured her naked more times in the past two hours than he ever had Lady Martha, whom he’d known for two years?
His unparalleled attraction to Evie was as infuriating as it was baffling.
And he needed it to end before he did something he’d soundly regret…like making good on his fantasy to kiss her.
Which was why, as soon as they finally got to Hawkridge Manor, he was going to pull her aside and offer her a ghastly amount of money to hop on the next sailing vessel bound for Boston and never return.
He’d do it now, of course.
There wasn’t a single reason not to.
Except…except he didn’t want to upset Brynne.
Yes, that was it, Weston told himself.
For some reason, his sister wished to forge a friendship with Evie, and who was he to deny her such a small, insignificant request?
