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The blonde man exhibited a slight smile. “She is the one entertaining me, truth be told.”
Was the man already besotted with her? Damn it all. “Is that so?” Edmund’s question aired devoid of pleasantness as his eyes sought hers.
Cold eyes greeted him. “He’s a flatterer, my lord.” Despite the lightness in her tone, a sliver of discontentment slipped underneath it. He must have been the only one to hear it since Carlton grinned at her. And she reciprocated.
They were almost stumbling to the altar.
And he was happy for them. Very happy. Exceedingly happy.
So much so he nearly scowled and roared. And thundered to whoever might listen that she was not Carlton’s, that she was—
“Wrong, Thornton.” The Viscount corrected, interrupting his train of thought just in time. “She is such a loyal little darling.”
“I can vouch for that,” Edmund added with sincerity. “She was utterly loyal to my cousin.”
Her eyes widened in surprise before she schooled her stance. “Esteemed gentlemen,” she intervened, “the object of your conversation stands right here.”
The Viscount turned to her with a comic, exaggerated expression of shock. “There you are, my dear,” he jested, and she smiled at him.
That Carlton would look fantastic with a punched nose was a mere detail, not worth mentioning. But it really was worth considering. Even more worth acting on.
To distract from his destructive and not so civilised thoughts, he changed the subject.
A
They had just stepped in Thornton House’s entrance hall from the soiree. The butler, Dawson, helped them out of their coats, cloaks, gloves, and hats.
The afternoon at the Mandeville’s had been lovely. Meeting the dowager and Oliver came as an unexpected perk. Disappointment always coated her feelings at such events since sly smirks, undisguised slurs and general disdainful behaviour used to surround her. Today had proved different though. Oliver had shown his eagerness to talk about the love of his life, and she listened to his stories. To witness him so happy, made her even more so.
As the butler walked away, the Earl’s deep voice sounded behind her. “You have a suitor, I see.”
Soon after Thornton approached Oliver and her, she excused herself and went back to talk more with the Marchioness. The man would make her uneasy every time he neared her. Defensive listed as only one of the ways she felt. Her body would clench in an attempt not to manifest her reactions to him. It proved a waste of energy, however, because her responses soared and spread throughout her skin and insides.
The sight of him again after hours of his absence sprouted the strangest conflicting emotions. Tension mingled with a reluctant delight in looking at his rugged features. His piercing stare seemed to reach unknown depths of her, like a pebble falling on a lake and rippling increasing concentric waves, impossible to ignore. Impossible not to feel. Or to forget.
She had been walking in the direction of the library when his comment came. She twisted to him, a delicate pleat on her brow. “You mean Oliver?”
His chiselled features crumped. “Oh, it is Oliver now, is it.”
The quip brought an arch to her brows. “He is a friend, not a suitor.”
“Is that so?” he drawled. Her gaze rejoiced with the view of his eyes, and that sculpted mouth with a slight sneer that did nothing to dispel the memory of it on hers. “You both seem close.”
She turned full on him, chin tilted up, defying him to question her connection with the Viscount. “We are.” Her head angled a tad to the side, observing him. “Our friendship goes back years.”
“And why did you not match?” Both his thumbs hung on his waistcoat pockets. Legs braced, he stood there tall and imposing like a gladiator.
At this, she paced to him, her head falling back to meet his gaze. “I was not in the marriage mart.”
He breathed out a smirk as he lowered his gaze to zero in on her, provoking a wave of scalding heat to travel her body. “Is this some kind of artifice to attract suitors?” The syrupy tone rained on her every pore. “If so, it is clearly not working.”
The taunt caused her blood to rush with annoyance. “What you think is not my concern, my lord.”
His nostrils flared with the force of his air intake. “What is your concern, pray tell?”
Her hands flew to her waist, and her spine straightened even more. “That you leave me alone.”
His eyes became slits as they burned on her. “Women always have an agenda. You must do, too.”
