Page 83 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

One would have thought that blood was thicker than water, but no. His sister’s vexing him took top priority, and she was not one to waste a chance to throw it in his face.

Just two days ago, she took to regaling him with the number of gentlemen who had asked Alice for a dance in the Crandall ball. It was obscene. If Evie was to be believed, Lady Alice Barkley would need three dance cards to accommodate all the men who wanted to dance with her.

Evie had also—quite gleefully, he might add—mentioned every single gentleman of consequence who expressed particular attention to his once-betrothed. Every single one of them was now on his list as well—his to-kill list.

“Well, this looks like a much more pleasant and productive way of spending your time.”

He looked up and glared at the one other person who seemed determined to make his torment as unbearable as possible—his own grandmother.

“It is nice to finally see you bathed, dressed, and somewhat properly fed, Colin,” she remarked acerbically. “I had thought you had every intention of withering away in your workshop like the despondent heroine of a cheap tragedy.”

Colin simply glared at his grandmother. “It is nice to see you, too, Grandmother.”

She pointedly ignored him and sat regally on the sofa. Sometimes, she looked so much like his mother that it hurt, but then the late Duchess of Blackthorn did not have the presence his grandmother possessed. She was much too kind and gentle—or was it simply his biased memories that made her that way?

“I suppose your sister has made you aware of her success this Season,” she announced. “There have been several gentlemen calling on her, and one had even sent flowers—for the both of us.”

“He seems like a paragon of sorts.”

“Hardly,” Lady Wellington replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It has come to my knowledge that he has done the same for Lady Alice Barkley.”

Colin clenched his hands into fists. “Who is this idiot so that I may give him a piece of my mind?”

A sly smile made its way into the older lady’s normally serene expression. “For Evelyn or for Lady Alice?”

For both, of course! Colin wanted to shout out.

Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders. “For my sister, of course. Who else would matter?”

“Ah, but she does matter, does she not?” His grandmother smiled, and he knew she was not talking about Evie anymore.

“She matters so much that you have all but become a recluse. If it had not been for our presence here at Blackthorn Estate, you would hardly have interacted with another human being.”

“I interacted with my steward,” Colin protested, “and my assistant. That makes it two people.”

Lady Wellington rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you only started doing that three days ago, when you finally managed to crawl out of your workshop, looking like some bog in the hinterlands just spit you out!”

Three days ago would have been the end of his agreement with Alice. He knew because he had marked it on his calendar, and it had been stamped in his heart.

To celebrate that milestone in his life, he had spent a drunken night in his workshop, surrounded by unfinished portraits of her in various stages of undress. He had never managed to finish a single one because it all became too much to bear—so much so that he could hardly keep his brush aloft, much less possess the strength to actually drag it across the canvas.

Still, he had painted her because she had become the only thing he could paint. It was the sort of mental anguish and torment he would not wish even upon his worst enemies.

Except maybe, perhaps, that bastard who sent flowers to both his once betrothed and to his younger sister.

“Evie and I shall be attending an opera tonight,” Lady Wellington announced. “I was going to tell you that it would be beneficial if you escorted her tonight to show your support, but I can see that you are currently…” she trailed off and narrowed her eyes at him. “Indisposed.”

I have been indisposed for the better part of a fortnight. I do not see how I can reverse such a malady anytime soon.

“Please convey my deepest regrets to Evie,” he muttered by way of an apology.

“Perhaps if you bettered yourself, your apology might be deemed sincere,” his grandmother sniffed. “Very well, you need not see me out. I can walk myself to the door.”

As if to underscore her point, she stood up smoothly and sailed to the door of his study, her back ramrod straight, her chin tilted regally. Just as she was about to turn the knob, she paused.

“Is there something else, Grandmother?” Colin asked her, bracing himself for another scathing reprimand.

“Whatever you are doing, my boy, I just hope you will not live to regret it,” she told him simply.

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