Page 7 of The Lady's Forbidden Marquess
“Figured out the answer to your own question, did you?”
“I’m quite brilliant.”
“I do not doubt it.You forgot one detail.”
“Enlighten me?”Pere asked as the music ended.
He didn’t release her, and she didn’t step back.
A stalemate; she paused.“I’m waiting.”
A bitter laugh ripped from his lips.“You have to love your brother, he’s your family, but me?You don’t have to like me.In fact, it won’t matter if you hate me for the rest of your days, so I can speak the truth, however blunt I wish, because you need to know what you’re about before you play games with men you cannot control.”
“Who says I want to control them?”Pere shot back.
“Because you think you know what you’re doing.”
“And?”
“And the end result won’t be a reformed rogue.It will be your ruin.And I, for one, do not wish that on anyone—least of all my friend’s sister.So… I’ll leave you with that harsh truth and take my leave.”
Lord Hawthorne released her waist, bowed with stiff correctness, and turned on his heel.The abruptness of it—barely within the bounds of propriety—sent a ripple through the nearest couples.A dowager’s fan fluttered like an alarmed pigeon, but no one dared more than a raised brow.The orchestra struck the final chord; the set dissolved into polite applause.
Henley was at her side in three strides, face carefully neutral.“Supper, Pere.Now.”
Anna took her other arm, murmuring, “Smile, darling.You look as though you’ve been jilted by a duke, not lectured by a marquess.”
Pere forced her lips into a curve that felt more like a snarl.“Next time, I’ll bring a field guide.Rakes are clearly more migratory than I thought.”
Chapter Four
“What did yousay to her?”Henley Rosewood, Viscount Allendale, twisted his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees across from Hawthorne.
“Good afternoon to you as well.”
“Ah, yes, pleasantries aside.Whatever you did was enough to make her evaluate her decisions.That’s more than I’ve been able to do.”Henley waved his hand and leaned back, perfectly at ease.His boots—polished to a mirror sheen—caught the firelight like twin smug smiles.
Gabriel Ashford, Marquess of Hawthorne, was anything but at ease—and it was his own bloody study.“She is your sister.”
“Yes.”Henley nodded once.
Gabriel decided he needed to help his friend connect the dots.“And thus, you should know her better than I do.”
“That is a given.Yet, somehow, you made it past her stubbornness and did the impossible.”
“Which was?”Gabriel lifted a brow, feigning interest.
“You made her question her decision to reform a rake.”
“Ah.Good.”
“How?”
Gabriel frowned.“What is it with you and your sister and that particular question?She asked me the same thing several times last evening.”
“We’re an inquisitive sort.”
“Lucky me,” Gabriel replied dryly.
