When confronted by his son, Jason claimed that Anne Thorncroft was the “love of his life”. As if Weston men were actually capable of falling in love.
For five generations, they’d married for duty and little else, resulting in marriages that were as passionless as they were practical. Weston had been set on continuing in the path forged by his predecessors with Lady Martha Smethwick, a bland woman with impeccable manners whose family was known for producing sons.
But when he’d gone to his father to ask for the family ring, a priceless heart-shaped ruby framed on either side with diamonds, he had been shocked (and subsequently enraged) to learn that Jason hadgiven the ring away.
To his American mistress!
“If you want it, then go find it,” his father had said, and so that was exactly what Weston had done.
It had cost him a small fortune, but he’d gotten what he wanted in the end.
He always did.
And what he wanted rightnowwas an explanation for why Evelyn Thorncroft, of all people, was sitting in his carriage outside of his house.
“Do you have something you’d like to tell me?” he asked his sister after stepping out of her beloved “natural light”.
“You know, there was something…” Tapping the edge of her brush against her chin, Brynne’s nose wrinkled thoughtfully. “That’s it. Now I remember. The green fabric I wanted to reupholster the dining room chairs in doesn’t complement the wall in the way that I’d hoped, and I will need to choose another. Do you prefer eggplant, or more of a plum shade? I like the eggplant, personally, but I’m afraid it may be a tad too–”
“I don’t care about chairs,” he interrupted between clenched teeth. “Why the hell is Evelyn Thorncroft under the impression that she’s been invited to Hawkridge Manor?”
“Oh!” Brynne smiled brightly. “That’s because she has. Once the chairs are reupholstered, I really think we should commission a new sideboard. There’s a lovely furniture maker in Berkley Square that everyone has been raving about, and–”
“No,” he snapped.
His sister’s smile faded. “No, you don’t want a new sideboard, or no, you don’t like the furniture maker? Maybe if you saw a few of his pieces you’d change your mind. We could go this morning, if you’d like, before we depart for the country.”
Tilting his head up to the clear blue autumn sky, Weston prayed for patience. While sisters had their merits, and Brynne was better than most, it went without saying that siblings were a burden. Was it any wonder that he didn’t want another?
“I did it,” said Brynne after a long, heavy pause. “I invited her.”
“I figured as much.” Dropping his chin, he met his twin’s hazel eyes. “The question is what you hoped to accomplish with such a ridiculous stunt.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Brynne said defensively. “Evie is our family, and–”
“She isnotour family.” For some reason, Weston felt a primal urge to make that distinction. Maybe it was because–for a very,verybrief moment–he’d fancied himself attracted to the raven-haired beauty who had stunned him with her beauty and charmed him with her wit. He hadn’t known who she was, of course. If he had, he never would have asked her to dance. Never would have leaned in to detect the scent of her perfume, an exotic blend of jasmine and citrus. Never would have admired the play of the candlelight across the top of her breasts. Never would have gazed at her plump pout and imagined what it tasted like. Whatshetasted like.
But that was all before.
Before he knew her name and what she was after.
Now he wanted nothing to do with her. This woman who was his half-sister’s sister.
Unfortunately, it appeared Brynne had other ideas.
“Evie may not be our family by blood, but sheisconnected to us,” his twin countered. “I should like to get to know her. We met last evening at the ball, and I found her to be exceedingly fresh and facetious.”
Weston glowered. “I think we have a different definition of the word facetious.”
“To be completely forthright,” Brynne went on, ignoring him, “I extended the same invitation to Joanna, but it seems she will soon be returning to Boston.”
“Good riddance,” he said bitterly. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why isn’t Evelyn accompanying her?”
“Because she is attending our house party,” Brynne explained with the patient tone of a parent speaking to a child who was having great difficulty grasping a simple arithmetic. “I’ve already sent our driver to collect her.”
“Oh, I’m aware. She’s here.”
“Sheis?” Brynne gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
