“My lord,” Priscilla said as she stepped forward, looking at the viscount.She’d like to tell Eugene to cease being a bore but her words would fall on deaf ears.Worse still, they’d further incite his temper.
But how to maneuver her exit around Eugene’s volatile emotions?While her mother irritated him, her attempts to speak out seemed to send him into a rage.He seemed to find her resistance as a personal rejection, which she understood, not that her knowledge made him any less frightening.
She forgot her worries for a moment as her gaze collided with the viscount’s.His dark brown eyes held her captive as she tilted her chin higher to glance up into them.What did he think about all this?Would he change his mind about courting her?
She broke her gaze, allowing a quick glance down his tall frame.He still used his cane, but his limp was less pronounced, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe.
“Lady Priscilla.”He bowed over her hand, taking her gloved fingers into his.
Eugene stepped forward as well, tugging at the lapels of his coat.“I’m afraid, Lord Ware, you’ve come in vain.Priscilla is not able?—”
Lord Ware’s cane thwacked the marble tile causing a sharp crack to echo through the foyer.“Is this true?”Ware asked, not Eugene but herself.
“No, it isn’t.”
With a simple nod, he held out his elbow and she slipped her fingers into his arm.Once he’d secured her person, he looked back at Eugene.“Even the king applies certain manners to social situations.If you’re going to be a proper earl, you’ll have to learn them.”
Eugene spluttered, seeming lost for words.
Without a backward glance, Lord Ware steered them toward the door.
Priscilla couldn’t help her brief glance back, noting Eugene’s near-purple hue to his skin.As she faced forward again, she tried to hide the small smile that tugged at her lips.Eugene was going to be a nightmare later, but for now, she’d enjoy Lord Ware’s small victory.
* * *
Wyatt’s fingersitched with the effort to keep them at his side.He’d like to raise his fist and plant it into Purlington’s sour features.
The man was loathsome.
Any questions he’d had about the particulars of why Priscilla had used such an unconventional method to acquire a husband had been succinctly answered.
Not that he didn’t need more detail.A fact he intended to remedy today.
He handed her into the seat of the phaeton, and climbed up next to her, snapping the reins and starting the carriage down the street.
They moved at an easy trot, quickly leaving the house behind them.
Priscilla bent closer and he caught a whiff of her scent, gardenias.Which was intoxicating in and of itself.During the day the flower smelled sweet like a peach.But at night, it changed, growing spicier.
He shook his head, giving a quick glance back at Ralph.
His valet had come along, acting as footman, but the truth was, he performed even worse at the latter position than he did at the former.
Still, he’d be a most excellent chaperone considering how much he hoped to eavesdrop on Wyatt and Priscilla’s conversation.
“Your cousin,” he started, looking over at her profile.Her nose had the slightest uptilt.Adorable.“He’s pleasant.”
She glanced at him, that little nose wrinkling.“That is the absolute last word I’d use.”
He smiled, despite himself.“Is he your guardian?”
One shoulder lifted.“In a manner of speaking.”
His brows lifted as he slowed the carriage.“Would you care to explain?”
“He is a guardian of nurture but not of testament.He controls my person but not my money and, thanks to my father’s will, not my choices in the matter of marriage.”
Interesting.“How does that work?”
