“Yes, it seems Miss Thorncroft has a particular fondness for baby farm animals.” He glared at Evie, who returned his stare calmly, prompting him to demand, “WhereisPosy, anyway?”
“Who is Posy?” Brynne asked. “I don’t recall that name on the guest list.”
“She is a lamb that Lord Hawkridge and I rescued after we discovered that her mother had been killed by poachers.” Evie smiled pleasantly at Weston. Were it not for the sharp glint in her gaze, he would have almost thought she meant it. “As to her whereabouts, I gave her to a footman to be bathed and fed.”
“That’s not what my footmen are for.” Even without his sister telling him, Weston knew he was being an arse. Had Brynne brought anyone else into the stables, he wouldn’t have given them more than passing greeting. But Evie wasn’t anyone else. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met.
A second in her presence and all of his self-control, all of his carefully constructed emotional barriers, were stripped away, leaving him helplessly undefended against her natural allure. If he didn’t snap at her, he was going to kiss her. And since he very well couldn’t dothat, his only alternative was to disguise his lust with loathing.
“He did not look busy,” she countered, lifting a dark brow.
“Two dozen members of thetonare about to descend on this estate at any moment,” he growled. “Every single maid, servant, and livery boy is busy. And none of them have time to bathe a damned sheep!”
“Three dozen, actually,” Brynne corrected. “But who is counting?”
“I am.Iam counting.” Incredulous, he raked a hand through his hair. “Thirty-sixguests? Bloody hell. Why would you ever invite so many? Where are we going to put them all?”
“We’ve enough bedrooms to accommodate twice that amount. And if anyone is to blame, it’s you.”
“Me,” he said flatly. “This ought to be good.”
Brynne shrugged. “After Lady Smethwick made it known that she and her daughter would be attending, I was fending off callers day and night. Everyone wants to say they were present when the Earl of Hawkridge and Lady Martha became–”
“Did you pick a fabric for the chairs?” he interrupted.
“What?” she said, blinking in confusion.
“The chairs.” He threw his hand in the air. “The dining room chairs that you wanted to reupholster in green but the fabric wasn’t available. Did you ever select another color?”
Staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, she nodded slowly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I decided on the eggplant. I didn’t realize you were actually listening to me.”
Neither had Weston, but he’d neededsomethingto stop Brynne from going on about his engagement plans, and dining room chairs in need of reupholstering was the first thing that came to mind.
He hadn’t any idea why discussing Lady Martha Smethwick in front of Evie was so innately repulsive to him. He only knew that it felt…wrong, somehow. Like discussing his wife in front of his mistress. Not that Evie was–or ever would be–his mistress. For even if hewasinclined to make her his (which he definitely wanted to, but also absolutely did not), she deserved more than some clandestine affair in a house tucked away on a side street that he visited in the dead of night.
Evie was far too proud for such an arrangement, and he’d never demean her by asking her to place herself in a situation where she was less than. Even if it meant having those luscious curves available to him whenever he desired. Kissing her for as long as he wanted. Loving her until the sun went down and then rose again, painting the sky in an endless streak of pink and gold as they finally collapsed beside each other in a slick, tangled heap of limbs.
Swallowing hard, he shifted his weight onto his heels and cast his attention into the foaling stall where the filly, still unnamed, slept soundly. “Brynne, I’d like a word with Miss Thorncroft. In private.”
“Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Lady Brynne.”
He turned his head to stare at Evie, and were such things possible the heat blazing in his eyes would have ignited the pile of hay behind her. “No. I cannot.”
“There’s…there’s a sitting arrangement I really must tend to,” said Brynne, her gaze darting between them. “Have a lovely chat.”
Off she dashed, leaving Weston and Evie alone save for the horses…and the tension simmering between them. Straw rustled as the broodmares moved around in their stalls. From somewhere out in the yard came the sound of a rake scraping across gravel. At the other end of the barn, Bold let out a shrill whinny.
Evie wet her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” he said roughly.
“Like you want to ravish me.”
“What if I did?”
“Want to ravish me?”
He gave a clipped nod.
