Page 45 of The Viscount's Unwanted Bride
He hesitated. “Uh, that one is my brother’s.”
“Oh.” She’d almost forgotten he had a brother. He never mentioned it, and she hadn’t thought to ask for details. “Is he in London too?”
A long pause followed her question.
Finally, Blackwell said, “Yes, but he’s currently out, so unfortunately I can’t make introductions.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I’ll meet him before the wedding.”
“We shall see.” His tone became brisk. “Let’s return to the ballroom and discuss the wedding itself.”
He started back along the corridor, and she hurried to keep pace with him, glancing at her mother over her shoulder. Lady Drake arched an eyebrow inquisitively. Kate widened her eyes in response, relieved to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d found Blackwell’s reaction strange.
There was something off about this family. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Perhaps once she met his mother, everything would fall into place.
“Would you like a large or small wedding?” Blackwell asked as they started down the stairs.
“I’d prefer it to be small.” She lifted her skirt with one hand so as not to trip over it. “Family and close friends. Do you have a preference?”
He looked over at her. Some of the tension had left his features, and his crooked smile made her insides fizz. “I agree. Small would be best.”
“Not a society wedding at St. George’s?” Disappointment laced Lady Drake’s voice.
Kate sent her an apologetic look. “No, but regardless of how many people we invite, I’d like a beautiful gown. Something I’ve designed myself.”
“Then you shall have it,” Blackwell declared. “I’d love to see what you come up with.”
This time, Lady Drake’s arched eyebrow had nothing to do with strangeness and everything to do with the unspoken implication of Lord Blackwell’s words. He supported Kate’s hobbies, and he didn’t think less of her for being so interested in something that could be seen as either trivial or beneath her status.
Kate hid her smile. She was still nervous about marrying him, but every time they were together, she became more certain that she was making the right decision. Her instincts told her that despite his dark reputation and stoic demeanor, Lord Blackwell was a good man.
He led them into the drawing room, and they all sat. She wished he hadn’t left such a space between them, as she enjoyed the tingles and flutters his presence caused in her.
“You should also give me a list of what will make you more comfortable here,” he continued as if their conversation had never paused. “I want you to feel at home.”
Joy bubbled inside her. Yes, the viscount would be an excellent husband.
“I’ll do that,” she said warmly.
A figure walked past the open doorway. She only caught a glimpse of him, but something about him seemed out of place. He wasn’t dressed in the servant’s uniform, and his upright bearing suggested he was someone important. But who would be here other than the viscount?
“Is that your brother?” she asked, curious.
“Where?” Blackwell’s gaze flew to the open doorway, and he paled. “I’m sure it was just one of the footmen.”
“He wasn’t wearing a uniform.”
Blackwell went to the door and closed it. “Perhaps he was off duty.”
A furrow formed between her eyebrows. That man hadn’t been a footman—she knew he wasn’t—and the fact that Blackwell closed the door so she wouldn’t see him pass by again was concerning.
What was Lord Blackwell hiding?
CHAPTER 15
London
December 1822
