“Your family would insist there are no two alliances, and that our respective families are one,” he said.
“Again, I must ask whether yours is a question or a comment?”
“Both.”
“In this? My loyalty and friendship belong first and always to my brother’s childhood friend and my cousin’s husband.” She paused. “That is your brother.”
“I know,” he drawled. “I only have the one.”
“I was jesting.”
“You are bad at it.”
Fleur bristled. “You cannot judge my wit by one quip alone.”
“I shall reserve my judgment until you make one.”
She was filled with the childlike urge to kick him hard in the shins.
“Fear not, Lady Fleur, a clever wit is not a requirement in marriageable ladies.”
Hart gave hissageadvice the same way he might recite the begats entries inDebrett’s.
“I will take comfort in that,” she said drolly.
Alas, sarcasm was wasted on dukes. And she knew. She had tried her best with her brother-in-law, Aragon.
“Your loyalty to my brother recommends you, Lady Fleur,” he said, in what she was sure was the closest he could ever get to a meaningful compliment, particularly after the falling out between her and Hart.
Fleur felt a new stirring of something that felt strangely like hope.
He ruined it with his next breath.
“I had not expected that, given you come from a long line of disloyal kin.”
Having three brothers, Fleur was well-versed inboybehaviors. Regardless of age or title, they all had a good deal in common. Propensities for belching, breaking wind, rough-and-tumble play, and, as the current case had it, a good quarrel.
That made it all the more fun to deny them.
“I will give you the same advice I always give my young nieces and nephews, Hart.”
He stiffened. “What is that?”
“Do not bother with a tantrum when you are able to say what it is really bothering you.” She favored him with a serene smile.
He was going to strangle her. Fleur was certain of it, and with hands as mesmerizingly powerful and large, it would take all the McQuoids to pry his fingers from her.
“You made a bloody fool of me with your performance at Chilton’s.”
Fleur caught the curl at her shoulder and twisted it slowly around her finger. “My performance?” She batted her lashes. “Pray recount my sins that day?”
Then she made the egregious mistake of looking too close. And now that she had looked, she could not unsee the tension in his jolie-laide features. The muscles bunched in his jaw from the words he hung onto. A small vein bulged at his temple.
His gaze shot fire.
Fleur’s heart quickened. If she weren’t baiting him, she’d have taken the dangerous sparks there as desire. But it wasn’t. Not that she wanted it to be, either way.
“You know,” he seethed.
