“Most times, yes. But never about anything as serious as premediated murder by jungle cat.”
“How horrific for the poor count.”
“I feel worse for the tiger, to be honest. Lord Dubois was a small little weasel of a man. He couldn’t have tasted very good. Probably quite chewy.”
“An unfortunate event all the way around then,” Evie said solemnly.
“Indeed. Well, now that we’ve gotten the gruesome death and maiming portion of our discussion out of the way…how are things proceeding? With our Lord Hawkridge, that is. Still madly in love with him?”
She frowned. “I was hoping you might have forgotten I said that due to your…ah…”
“Drunken stupor?” He grinned at her. “No need to dance around the truth on my account. And while I only vaguely recall you begging to be my mistress and me doing the honorable thing and declining to preserve your womanly–”
Evie gave an unladylike snort. “Isthathow you remember it?”
“Yes. I’m sure that is precisely how it happened.”
“What an interesting memory you possess, Your Grace.”
“Sterling,” he corrected. “As I was saying, while I do not recollect our conversation by the stairs, I do remember, in great, embarrassing detail, everything that was spoken on the terrace. Give or take a few sentences here and there. By the by, did you happen to see what happened to the hat I was wearing? It happened to be my–”
“Second favorite,” she interrupted. “Yes, so you told me. After you threw it over the balcony.”
The duke’s brows knitted. “Did I?”
Evie nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“That explains why my valet hasn’t been able to find it among any of my belongings. Maybe I’ll wait before telling him,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s kept Higgins busy, at any rate. Now, where were we, Miss Thorncroft? Ah, that’s right. You were about to tell me how you could be in love with a scoundrel like Hawkridge and not with a perfectly honorable, well-behaving gentleman like me.”
“Well-behaving?” she said, the edges of her mouth twitching. “You propositioned me on a landing, Your Grace.”
“Although, as I said, my recollection of that particular part of the evening is blurry at best…thatdoessound like something I would do,” he admitted.
“As far as how I came to be in love with Weston…” On a sigh, Evie laid down her fork and glanced woefully at Posy, who had finished off the blueberries and was licking the bowl with some enthusiasm. “If I knew that, I would immediately make myself falloutof love with him.”
“Going that well, is it?” Sterling said dryly.
“It is notgoinganywhere,” she said in frustration. “Aside from a few passionate encounters–”
“Do tell,” the duke breathed.
“–it seems as if we’re right where we started. Weston still plans to ask Lady Martha Smethwick to marry him, and to make matters even worse, he wants to findmea husband. A repayment in kind, he said, for taking my mother’s ring and robbing my sisters and me of financial independence.”
“Odd, I never fancied Lord Hawkridge as a matchmaker.”
“He’s not.” Reaching beneath the table, she gave Posy an absent pat between her ears. “If he cannot even matchhimselfwith the right person, I’ve no idea how he plans to match me. I think it’s just a means to keep me distracted.”
“Or a way to keep you at Hawkridge Manor.”
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “If hereallywanted to keep me here, he could simply propose.”
“Ah, but what kind of story would that make?” Sterling asked. “The cold-hearted earl and the gorgeous American meet, fall in love, and get married? The readers would perish of boredom before the fifth chapter. There needs to beangst, my dear. Emotional turmoil. Will-they-or-won’t-they. High drama at its finest.That’swhat makes a good romance.”
“Why, Your Grace,” she said with some amusement. “Have you been reading Austen?”
Sterling crossed his arms. “Even if I had, I’d never admit it.”
“Then you’ve no opinion on Mr. Darcy?”
