Page 66 of Never a Proper Lady

There. That ought to put Constantine off. Any moment, he’d pivot and dart out the door.

“Nevertheless, I shall accompany you,” he whispered back

What? She drew back and blinked up at him. No.

He is supposed to let me go alone.

Then Constantine winked as if he’d read her riotous thoughts.

The bounder winked as if he hadn’t shredded her heart with his cold arrogance yesterday.

Well, Faith wasn’t falling for that rogue’s ploy.

For as it says in The Court and Character of King James by Anthony Weldon:

He that deceives me once, it’s his fault; but if twice, it’s my fault.

She wasn’t about to be taken in by a handsome face, mesmerizing green eyes, or a disarming smile again. Don’t forget his hewn jaw and muscular shoulders and chest.

Stop it!

Faith steadfastly focused on Constantine’s shiny boots until her traitorous gaze began to climb his sleek, sculpted legs. No!

What the devil was wrong with her?

He called you a mulish, opinionated termagant.

Clenching her jaw in irritation, Faith swiftly switched her attention to the small bundle clutched to her middle. She would not meet Constantine’s eyes because if she did, she might—very likely, in truth—forget her resolve to treat him like a stranger.

Cook brought him a basket covered with a blue and white linen cloth.

“Yer lordship. I also packed enough for Miss Roth since ye interrupted her breakfast.”

“Thank you, Pip.” He dropped a peck onto her plump cheek, and Cook’s already flushed cheeks turned a brighter shade of red.

“Go on with ye, young rascal.” She pointed her gaze at Faith. “Mind yer manners with yer betrothed.”

“I always do,” he quipped.

Faith shot him a reproving look but swallowed her building rancor when she saw the rakish tilt of his lips.

He was jesting.

Who was this man?

Where had the brusque beast who couldn’t abide her presence gone to?

She’d expect this behavior from his brothers, for from what she’d seen, they were the flippant gallants. The rapscallions and rogues of the family. Not Constantine. He was the serious brother.

Once outside, Constantine plucked her mashed napkin from her fingers and dropped the blob into the basket. “You’ve squished whatever is in that napkin to a pulp. I daresay it’s unfit to eat.”

He was right, but his highhandedness still vexed her.

Pulling her eyebrows together and pinching her lips tight, Faith drew in a calming breath. She would not lose her temper. “I suppose there is nothing I can say that will dissuade you from accompanying me.”

“Not a thing,” he affirmed with a cheeky grin.

Of course, there wasn’t.