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“Answer me,” she snapped. “I deserve to know why I am so offensive to you, considering what has just occurred.”
“Will you cry ruination then?”
“I refuse to make things so easy for you, Your Grace.”
“There are rules, Andromeda. Dictates that must be followed. There are elements I cannot allow the Duke of Granby to be associated with.” He still wouldn’t look at her; he only tugged at his collar.
“I see.” Except, she didn’t, really. It was not the first time Granby had implied she was somehow lacking in suitability by some stupid measurement only he was privy to. She was the daughter of a bloody duke. “You are the only one who feels I am deficient in some way.”
“Not the only one,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Estwood certainly doesn’t find me wanting,” she said, lashing out at him. “He finds meincrediblysuitable.” She drew her knees up to stop the trembling of her legs.
“Stay away from Estwood.”
“I’ll listen to Estwood and his stories anytime I wish. If I choose to sketch Blythe’s backside, as I should have done at Lady Masterson’s, I will.” Her words turned snide. Raw. “The service you’ve just provided me doesn’t bestow upon you any right to dictate the company I keep.”
“Service?” The word cracked across her coldly, like the snap of a whip.
“What would you call it, Your Grace? It certainly wasn’t an act done with an ounce of affection. I’ve already determined you aren’t capable of such emotion.”
An ugly, wounded sound came from him. “None of this is easy.”
“Haven is waiting for you. I will take my time and return to the picnic area from the opposite direction.” Romy stayed perfectly still, her eyes focused on the view before her, and refused to look at him. Her insides felt torn and damaged. As if he’d ripped out the seed of something before allowing it to take root.
The grass rustled around her as he stood.
Romy struggled to keep the moisture gathering behind her eyes at bay. He was right. This situationmustcease. Her emotions were in disarray, overriding all caution when it came to Granby. The last hour was proof of that.
Finally daring a look behind her, she saw that Granby was gone.
* * *
David strodeto the small grouping of trees at the edge of the field Haven had directed him to, reaching into his pocket for a cheroot to complete the charade. Andromeda’s scent lingered in his nostrils. Her sweetness clung to his fingers. If Haven hadn’t come upon them, David would quite possibly have taken her virtue. The loss of control he’d shown was nothing short of shocking.
Andromeda was a terrible weakness. Bits of him unraveled whenever she was near, and he couldn’t stop it.
“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Haven stepped from around one of the trees, hand out. “We’d both best go back reeking of tobacco if the tale we tell is to stick.”
David reached into his pocket for another cheroot and handed it to his friend. “I appreciate your intervention. Thank you.”
“You’re a bloody fool.” Haven lit a match, lighting the tip of his cheroot. “Youwanther because sheisn’tBeatrice. No one gives a fig but you, and possibly the ghost of Horace, that Andromeda’s mother was once a lady’s companion; she’sstillthe daughter of a duke.”
A familiar chill clawed at David’s chest, nearly restricting his lungs. Haven didn’t understand. He couldn’t. “Breeding is of the utmost importance.”
Haven snorted. “You sound just like him. One wonders how you tolerate Estwood. Your father certainly didn’t.”
“Breedingalwaysshows, Haven. As evidenced by the fact she was willing to roll about in the grass with me. Didn’t even think twice about it. Beatrice would never have done that.” David cringed, hearing how condescending he sounded.
Haven’s gaze on him grew ugly. “I find it says more aboutyouthan Andromeda, you pompous ass. I don’t know what Horace did to you, Gran.”
“He did nothing but raise me to be the duke I am.” The words fell smoothly from his lips, but the usual duty he felt toward Granby was absent. He’d been thinking quite a bit about his father lately, also Andromeda’s fault. Things David had long avoided, he’d been examining too closely.
“I don’t claim to know what your upbringing was like being raised by that cruel prick. Or why you seem so determined to emulate him. You were never happier than when you were in Italy.”
David tossed down the cheroot, grinding the tip beneath his boot, wishing it were Haven. “I don’t wish to make the same mistakes Horace did. There are certain rules whichmustbe followed. My mother—”
“Has nothing to do with Andromeda. If you don’t want her bastard brother in your house because it offends your sensibilities, then don’t allow him to visit. You don’t need to drink scotch with Averell or have tea with the dowager duchess. Live at The Barrow and avoid the Barringtons if you can’t stomach their eccentricity.”
