“You will choose one, offer for her during this house party, and marry her before the year is out. Then get yourself an heir on her.” He’d gone to stare out onto the acres of Carthwaite land, and Gray was glad for a reprieve from the glare of those black eyes. “We shall hope she is heartier than your mother.”
Gray lunged for the man with his hands curled into fists. Mrs. Reed planted her diminutive frame in his path.
His father turned toward them with a smirk.
Finally, he’d gotten the provocation he sought.
“Still no better at ruling that temper of yours, I see.” His father assessed him from boot to brow in one jerky up and down glance. “Go and ready yourself to meet them.”
Gray nodded, managed the slightest of bows, and pivoted on his heel. He was two steps from the door when the man fired his final salvo.
“Choose well. You don’t want to end up with a dead bride and a sickly child as I did.”
Gray stalked out of the man’s room, pulling the thick oak door shut with a thud.
* * *
Cruel words echoedin the hallway outside the tower of Carthwaite Castle.
Something about a dead wife and a sickly baby and then the crack of a slamming door that shook the floor beneath Evangeline Granger’s feet.
She ducked around the corner.
She’d been walking the castle for fifteen minutes, having been tasked by her aunt with “collecting Lord Rothwell.” After searching everywhere else he could reasonably be, she’d reluctantly ascended the tower. Logically, it should have been the first place she’d gone. The staff indicated that Rothwell had been sent directly to his father’s rooms after arriving.
But actually knocking on the ducal door and disturbing the ailing man seemed too much. The Duke of Carthwaite had a reputation for valuing his privacy, and his declining health was the whole reason the house party had to be a success.
And it couldn’t be a success until Rothwell began mingling with the ladies assembled for hisselection.
Evie couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. After years as her aunt’s companion, she was well aware of how the marriage mart worked and was very grateful not to be a participant herself. She had no romantic illusions about men or marriage. But a half dozen ladies gathered in one remote castle to vie for an offer of marriage from one man was a level of competition she’d yet to witness.
The longer it took for Rothwell to appear to greet guests, the more impatient Evie’s aunt and Lady Hepworth grew. Some of those gathered in the opulent drawing room whispered about whether Rothwell had been struck by some misfortune on the roads due to the dreadful weather.
The aunts wanted him to prove to all the eligible young ladies and their chaperones that he was in good health before the nonsense of the fortnight truly got underway.
The heavy clunk of footsteps approached down the hall and then stopped. After a moment, all had gone quiet, so Evie ventured a peek.
She let out a gasp, and her heart dropped into the toes of her boots.
Lord Rothwell stood in the hallway, and she hadn’t prepared herself well enough for her first sight of him.
By rights, seeing him should have no effect whatsoever. They’d known each other too long for her to be so flustered. Goodness, the man was a fixture at her aunt’s balls during the Season.
But each time she got her first glimpse of him, her breath tangled in her throat. Then she’d get caught up in studying him. He had a leonine quality about him—tall, muscular, powerful. Golden hair, hazel eyes, a stride that spoke of confidence and certainty.
She envied his self-assurance most of all.
But he didn’t seem confident now. He stood frozen, his shoulders hunched, fists furled, eyes staring back at the door to the ducal rooms. Something about his demeanor sent a shiver of fear across Evie’s skin.
Anger radiated off him. Anger and a sort of misery she’d never imagined him feeling.
Then he drew in a sharp breath and began to turn, and Evie jerked back, not wanting him to catch her. She wasn’t ready for one of their verbal jousts—though, of course, she had to speak to him. Aunt Lydia had sent her on this urgent mission, and she never wished to disappoint her aunt.
“Evangeline?” A moment later, he rounded the corner, bumping into her.
He braced his hands on her upper arms, examining her from head to toe, and then released her.
“Lord Rothwell. I’m sorry, I was just—”
