He held out his hand. “I’ll take care of it. I need some time alone.”
“Yes, my lord.” Tidwell bowed. “Mr. Grayson said I should wish you happy.”
Of course. He’d known who Eugénie was before he’d sent Will to her house. That’s the reason his friend had been so angry. Andrew should have warned him. Maybe then Will would have taken a different tack. “The lady has not accepted yet.”
Tidwell stepped out of the room then returned, handing Will a folded paper with a seal. His name was written in a neat feminine hand. “This came while you were out.”
He must have stayed in the wash house longer than he’d thought. “Thank you.”
Once Tidwell left, Will placed the cloth bag of ice on his nether parts—they might never be the same again—and opened the letter.
Lord Wivenly,
I shall accept your offer of marriage as long as it is on equal terms.
Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse
On equal terms? What the devil did the little vixen mean by that? Will tossed back the fine French cognac, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the burn of the liquid traveling down his throat. He’d figure it out later. This had to have been one of the most trying days of his life, and right now he wanted a nap. Perhaps he should have given in and married one of the scheming young ladies in England. At least now he wouldn’t be sitting here almost emasculated.
The ice and brandy were doing the trick, when a loud laugh interrupted his state of lethargy.
Andrew.His so-called friend sauntered into the parlor, grinning as he took in the bag of ice. The cur. “I am pleased I can be a source of amusement for you.”
Andrew poured brandy in a glass and sat in the chair on the other side of the small table. “What did you do to cause the lady to damage your bawbels?”
Will tried to move and winced. This was taking longer than he’d expected. Who knew such a small female, in skirts no less, could deliver such a wallop. He hoped he’d be able to attend the entertainment tomorrow evening. “I asked her to marry me.”
Andrew took a sip of his drink. “Did she hit you before or after the proposal?”
“It’s all a bit fuzzy now”—especially after the brandy—“though I believe it was before.”
“Ergo”—his friend lounged back in the chair—“my question. What did you do?”
“I may have been a bit angry”—this was not, after all, completely his fault—“but she’s a shrew. She called me a pig and a blackguard, and accused me of deceiving her.” He picked up the missive and tossed it to Andrew. “Then she sent me that.”
Andrew perused the note and started to laugh so hard he had to wipe his eyes.
“I fail to see what is so funny.” Will glowered. His friend wouldn’t think it humorous if it had happened to him. “I can’t even figure out what the deuce she means by it. Equal marriage indeed. All that French thinking about liberty, equality, and fraternity must have gone to her head.”
Andrew stared at Will for several moments before saying, “What terms did you think of when you decided to marry her?”
That was easy. This wasn’t a love match, after all. “She’d remain in the country most of the year. I’d trot her out during the Season, unless she was breeding, and I’d, in general, go on with my life.”
“Your injuries must have damaged your brain as well,” his friend said in a wintry tone. “From what my betrothed, Miss Whitecliff, told me, Miss Villaret is an innocent, or she was until you got your hands on her, but she is not at all stupid. Do you think she doesn’t know what you have in mind?”
Visions of Eugénie’s pliable body pressed against another man raced through his brain. If she thought he’d stand by while he became a cuckold, she could think again. She was his and would remain so. His jaw clenched. “I won’t allow it.”
“I suspect you’ve met your match.” Andrew put his glass down and stood. “Have a good time feeling sorry for yourself. I trust you’ll be better tomorrow for the party. Remember, we’ve been invited to dinner as well.”
Will poured another glass of brandy. He would not allow Eugénie to lead him a dance. Love was all very well, and he would have enjoyed it except for the fact that every man who fell in love was a slave to his wife. Living under the cat’s paw would never happen to him. He’d calmly explain to her how their married life would work. She really had no choice in the matter.
He thought of the way Eugénie had kissed him. Not as innocent as her friend and Andrew thought. Will would make her tell him who taught her how to kiss, then find and beat the man to a bloody pulp. He rose, pleased his groin was no long as painful. Fate was with him again.
Will spent the next day at the office and warehouse of Wivenly Imports, ensconced once more with Smithwick. Around the middle of the morning Andrew finally appeared, though other than explaining a few matters concerning the business to Will, he may as well not have been there. Andrew’s mind was clearly on Miss Whitecliff and their marriage settlements. Will thought he should probably discuss that issue with Eugénie and her mother. He groaned.Not the ladies. Damn.His father was trustee. What a devil of a mess this was.
“My lord?” Griff said, interrupting Will.
The devil, now he’d have to re-add the whole column again. “What?”
