Page 33 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

“I have never looked at you in that way. It is not something I want, and it’s long past time you ceased entertaining such thoughts,” replied Edmund, on one hand disliking the need for harsh words while understanding this was definitely not an occasion for dissembling.

“What are you talking about?” said Sylvia, her tone rising. “Of course you want this. It’s the only reason you married Lydia. To be close to me.”

What the hell?

Had he been transported into a play at Drury Lane? How could she spout such utter nonsense? Everyone in the entire bloody country understood why he and Lydia had married so young, without any kind of courtship or attachment; hell, even Cressida knew!

Edmund took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. His sister-in-law was obviously not well. “Sylvia,” he said more gently. “You know that is not true. And I think it’s best you leave. Lord Lovell does not deserve such shabby treatment and you are better than this.”

“My husband has always known of my love for you. I told him. And he concedes to a better man. Do not fight this. Do not fight me.”

And with that, his sister-in-law launched herself at him in a grotesque parody of Cressida and Sir Kenneth’s earlier embrace. Her slight frame and bony limbs were bruising, and even as he grabbed her shoulders to shove her away, her dry, cold lips pressed against his in the most unromantic, unerotic kiss imaginable.

“Oh dear,” said a cool feminine voice from the parlor doorway.

Edmund turned, his revulsion turning to horror at the sight of not only Arabella and Nev, but also an unfamiliar blond lad. And…oh Christ…Denby?

His solemn, disapproving son had just witnessed that? His lovers had just witnessed that?

It was hard to imagine a deeper, darker pit of hell.

CHAPTER 8

The parlor was so quiet they could almost hear the ants on the shrubbery outside.

Edmund gritted his teeth at the injustice of it. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but an affair with his late wife’s sister was not one of them.

Then Arabella strolled into the room with the grace and precision of a cat stalking a mouse and an equally feral look in her blue eyes. “Oh dear,” she said again, the words firing like bullets from a pistol. “Lady Lovell, what on earth are you doing?”

Sylvia lifted her chin, but it trembled ever so slightly. “I think it perfectly obvious, Lady Carlisle.”

“Not really,” said Arabella, closing in on her prey. “Because to us, it looked like you were inflicting yourself on an unwilling participant and that is simply not acceptable. Did His Grace consent to that kiss? Or more broadly, did he offer any indication at all that he wished that from you, his married sister-in-law?”

Right before Edmund’s eyes, Sylvia began to wilt. “Men like kisses!”

Nev shook his head. “It isn’t right when a man forces a kiss on a lady, nor the other way around, Lady Lovell. What kind of example are you setting for the lads?”

Edmund cleared his throat. “Perhaps I haven’t been specific enough, but let me say this plainly, Sylvia. There is nothing between us except a familial bond. You are my late wife’s sister, no more and no less. Although I suggest you make yourself scarce in future. Cressida will decide whether she wants you at her wedding, but knowing how she feels, I do not like your chances. Now, I suggest you leave Stanforth House. I’ll advise my staff accordingly.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson, Sylvia stalked from the room, slamming the parlor door behind her.

Arabella exhaled slowly. “Well. That was…interesting.”

“I have never—” Edmund began miserably.

“I know,” she replied, tilting her head meaningfully toward the two bug-eyed boys. “But we have a far graver matter to air, and it must be attended to immediately. Harry, Toby, why don’t you sit on the couch?”

Edmund blinked. A far graver matter? Harry? What the devil was going on? “Perhaps someone could explain why Denby is here when he should be at Jourdelay’s boarding house?”

Nev actually frowned as he sat beside the boys. “He prefers Harry. It’s rather nice, isn’t it, when titles can be discarded amongst those we care about?”

Edmund winced at the pointed reminder of their second night together, where he had asked to be just Edmund rather than the Duke of Stanforth. It had felt good, very good, to be just Edmund. “I’ll rephrase. Why is Harry here when he should be at Jourdelay’s boarding house?”

Young Toby met his gaze directly. “We were abducted by pirates, Your Grace,” he said with great dignity. “Covered by a blanket and all.”

Arabella’s lips twitched. “Thank you, my dear. In summary, Harry and Toby are best chums at Eton—”

“I know that,” said Edmund quickly, trying to regain some sort of equilibrium. “Cressida read me your letter, Den…er, Harry. I didn’t realize Toby was related to the Carlisles, though.”