Page 15 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
“Precisely. But here is a man with no similar aspirations—who would, in short, be utterly disinterested in me as a wife.”
Emily looked at Evangeline doubtfully. “Andthatis your goal?”
“What other goal could I have? With such a timeline as we have, I can hardly think of marrying for love. This is the next best option.”
“But Mr. Linfield is…” Emily wrinkled her nose. “It’s not an excellent match.”
“He is the son of a Viscount.”
“And you are the daughter of a Duke.”
“A Duke whose inglorious end will soon be revealed to society.” Evangeline’s throat tightened at the look on her sister’s face. “I’m sorry, Em, but we need to be practical.”
“Don’t you miss him?” Emily whispered.
“Of course, I do.” Evangeline’s voice was thick, and she patted Emily’s hand. She’d had to be the strong one for so long, she’d become accustomed to pushing her feelings back down. Sometimes, she forgot that Emily struggled to do the same. “But we can’t afford to let our grief get in the way of our decisions.”
“I don’t know how you can forget Papa so fully.” Emily stood, her skirts tangling around her legs, and stormed to the door, shoulders tight, her face already red and blotchy from oncoming tears.
Evangeline didn’t bother going after her. Emily would want space to cry and grieve. Meanwhile, Evangeline would have to go downstairs and face the callers—and if she was unfortunate, face the Marquess.
They hadn’t spoken since he’d discovered her in his bedchamber, and she preferred it that way. If he was not to be dissuaded from staying, this was the next best option.
Unfortunately, when she reached the drawing room, it was to find him there flicking through her music.
He glanced up and saw her, and something crossed his face too fast for her to read, but instead of acknowledging her, he turned his attention back to the music. She should have left. Really, really, she should have left him to his own devices and not addressed the elephant that lingered between them. But then, when it came to infuriating men like him, she couldn’t quite summon the energy to be sensible.
“Can you play?” she asked, her tone antagonistic. Perhaps he was planning on burning her music as part of hisconsequences.
“I cannot,” he said, replacing the music and turning back to her. “You have quite a collection.”
“Well, that is becauseIplay.”
“You have played little since I’ve been here.”
“I only play when my mind is at ease,” she retorted, “and as you can see, that is not the case here.”
His eyes darkened. “And that is because of me?”
“Why else?” Although she had not felt the urge to play anything save scales since her father’s death. “But you insist on staying.”
He gave a tight smile. “I’m accustomed to being an object of derision, Lady Evangeline. That alone will not convince me to leave.”
“Because you enjoy causing misery?”
He turned from her abruptly. “As you say.”
Oh, he was infuriating. She folded her arms, ready to attack him in another way—attacking him was far easier than thinking about what might have happened if he’d kissed her—when the butler announced a caller. Lord Mountsby.
Her shoulders slumped for an instant before she turned with a smile she didn’t feel. “Lord Mountsby,” she greeted, holding out her hand limply. He kissed it with far too much enthusiasm and damp lips that made her want to shiver in disgust.
“You are looking as beautiful as ever,” he said, retaining his hold on her hand.
“Thank you.” She tugged her hand free as the Marquess prowled back to the middle of the room.
“You have a caller?” the Marquess asked her although Lord Mountsbywas right there before them. “And what, pray, are his intentions?”
Lord Mountsby swallowed audibly. Although he had spoken badly about the Marquess at the ball when they had last met, he now offered the Marquess his hand. “Well met,” he said. “I’m certain you must know my intentions. What else could I be coming here to do but pay my respects to the beautiful young lady before me?”
