A knock sounded on the parlor door of their hotel chambers, and the Whitecliffs’ footman, Josh, entered with yet another missive in his hand. Will couldn’t imagine running a servant back and forth with messages as Andrew and Miss Whitecliff had done for most of the day. What was so important it would not wait another quarter hour?
Andrew read the note and grinned before scribbling an answer. That infernal smiling had been going on all day as well. At least one of them had something to be happy about.
Will frowned. He hadn’t sent a reply to Eugénie’s letter. What he had to tell her would be better said in person, and he wasn’t looking forward to his conversation with his betrothed. Nevertheless, he had to make clear to her how their marriage would work. He had no intention of being ruled by a slip of a woman. Neither his father nor any of his recently married friends could make a move without their wives’ permission. That would not happen to him. “What can we expect this evening?”
The breeze had died and the air was thick with humidity. So much for his collar and cravat.
“From what I understand, it will be something along the lines of a soirée.”
No dancing, that was good. The pain in his testicles had dimmed to a dull ache, but he didn’t want to engage in a lot of movement. Thank God Eugénie had been hampered by her skirts and her diminutive size, and at least she hadn’t had another weapon.
A piece of advice Marcus had given Will before he left England nagged at him. Ah yes. His friend had said that women in this part of the world were proficient with knives. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. Surely Eugénie didn’t know how to use a dagger. Despite her French accent and temper, she’d been raised as a well-bred Englishwoman. Yet so had Lady Marsh, and according to her husband, she was more than proficient. Perhaps some rethinking of how to approach Eugénie might be in order, or he’d never sleep well again.
“If you’re done grimacing to yourself,” Andrew said, “we should be going.”
Will stood slowly, taking inventory of his parts. All good. “I’m ready.”
They departed the hotel, then climbed back up the Ninety-Nine Steps. Though why it was called that when there were one hundred and three of them, Will didn’t know. They’d soon wear a path so deep the bricks would need replacing.
He hated hills. Why was it that all his tutors thought hiking up and down mountains was the only way to exercise a boy? A good ride would have done just as well and have been far less painful. When he thought of all the boots he’d worn out, his father had probably paid the local cobbler enough to retire early in style.
It didn’t matter how lovely they looked at a distance, or the grandness of the view, he’d be happy if he never saw one again. Once his family had moved down from the Lake District to Watford, he promised himself he’d never climb another hill. Now here he was on an island with nothing but mountainous terrain.
Once Will was married and returned to England, his father would expect him to take up residence at the heir’s estate outside of Keswick, in Cumberland, in a house surrounded by hills. That had been another reason to put off marrying for as long as possible. If ever a man required a brandy, it was him, now.
When they reached the top of the steps, Andrew turned in the opposite direction from Wivenly House. It was then Will realized that Whitecliff House was separated only by the stair street from where his betrothed lived. Andrew and Will were admitted to an elegant salon with windows open to the sea breeze. As Will surveyed the room, he almost didn’t recognize the elegant young lady whose glossy chestnut curls shone beneath the glow of the candles as his affianced wife.
Her lips tilted enchantingly as she gazed up at a giant of a man who appeared several years older than Will and had the squarest jaw he’d ever seen.
When the gentleman returned her smile, anger of a type Will hadn’t known before surged through him and he wanted to knock the other man’s white teeth down his throat.
“Wivenly?”
He tore his eyes away from Eugénie and the other gentleman and attended Andrew, who stood next to an older couple.
“Mrs. Whitecliff, allow me to introduce my friend, Lord Wivenly. Wivenly, my future in-laws, Mr. and Mrs. Whitecliff.”
Will bowed over the lady’s hand, then shook her husband’s. Will’s gaze strayed again to Eugénie.
“My lord?”
He jerked his attention back to the couple. He’d apparently missed a question from Mrs. Whitecliff. What the deuce was wrong with him? “Excuse me.”
“No need to explain, my lord.” Mr. Whitecliff gave a bark of laughter. “Eugénie’s quite in her looks this evening.”
“Yes, sir.” There was no denying that.
Will had been staring at her like a besotted fool. If she’d been lovely before, she was dazzling in the silk gown that brought a sparkle to her skin and revealed every curve of her lush form. A single pearl hung suspended below each exquisite ear on a thin gold wire, calling attention to her graceful neck. Every movement of a pearl made him want to catch it between his teeth, then slowly run his tongue over her shell-shaped ear. He could still taste her warm skin. Soon. Somehow he’d have to discover a way to marry her without delay.
As he stood with Andrew and the Whitecliffs, Eugénie still hadn’t even acknowledged Will’s presence. Although, by the way she seemed to notice everyone but him, she knew he was there. Did she really think he’d allow her to ignore him? She smiled at the man again.The minx.If that kept up, he might drag her out of the room.
“You are a lucky man,” Mr. Whitecliff said, once more interrupting Will’s thoughts. “Not as lucky as Andrew here, but I’ll have to admit to being partial.”
Before Will could think of a response, Miss Whitecliff came to join them. She tucked her small hand in Andrew’s arm, unlike Will’s betrothed, who was too engrossed with another man to greet him. Cicely’s face glowed as she looked up at Grayson. That rankled, and Will had had enough of Eugénie’s Turkish treatment. It was time she knew to whom she belonged.
He inclined his head to Miss Whitecliff, who gave him a tight smile, before he strode over to stand behind Eugénie, so close her skirts brushed his breeches, and he had a view of the soft swell of her creamy bosom. Though she still ignored him, her shoulders straightened. He lifted his hand and twisted one of the wispy curls on her neck around his finger. The rise and fall of her breasts quickened.
Now he had her attention. “My dear, please introduce me to your friend.”
