Page 5 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
“What,” Ewan said, his voice still dangerously low, “possessed you to barge into my chambers without knocking?”
His nephew’s face had turned an alarming shade of crimson. “I’m sorry, Uncle. Truly. I was so excited about the poem I’m writing for Lady Jane that I forgot… I mean, I should have knocked, but I was just so desperate for help with the meter…”
Ewan drew in a calming breath. “You needed help with poetry so urgently that you couldn’t wait until morning?”
“Well, yes,” the boy said earnestly. “You see, I’m trying to capture the exact shade of her eyes, and I’ve been wrestling with whether ‘cerulean’ or ‘azure’ better conveys the depth of?—”
Blast it all, he thought. “Percy.”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“After your display at Lord Norfeld’s party, I should think you’d recognize the need for moresubtletyin your romanticendeavors.”
Percy nodded vigorously, not a thought behind those eyes. “Absolutely. You’re entirely right. I realize now that the pony might have been excessive.”
“Might have been,” Ewan repeated dryly.
“So, you’ll help me with the poem?” The younger man stared at him,
“Tomorrow,” Ewan said firmly. “After you’ve learned to knock.”
“Of course, Uncle. Tomorrow.” Percy began backing toward his own chambers, then paused. “Should I… should I apologize to the lady? For the interruption?”
Certainly not. “Go to bed, Percy.”
“Right. Good night, Uncle.”
Ewan watched his nephew disappear around the corner, then returned to his chambers.
Isabella was already dressed, her earlier languor replaced by brisk efficiency.
“I should go,” she said, accepting the glass of wine he offered. “Your nephew seems… enthusiastic.”
“That’s one word for it,” Ewan replied, but his mind was already elsewhere.
As Isabella gathered her things and prepared to leave, Ewan found himself thinking not of her departure, but of another pair of blue eyes—not cerulean or azure, but the deep blue of a summer sky just before storm clouds gathered.
Lady Samantha.
Lady Samantha Brennan was… feisty. Their argument in the garden was proof of that. The fire that had sparked in her eyes when he’d challenged her… he’dwantedto continue their verbal sparring with the woman who tugged at something in his memory.
The mere idea disturbed him greatly. Because ladies like her represented everything he’d sworn to avoid.
Yet as he watched Isabella disappear into the night, it wasn’t her face that lingered in his memory, but the image of a red-haired woman with freckles and fierce blue eyes who had once made him forget, for the space of a single dance, all the reasons why he should stay away from ladies of theton.
From the hallway came Percy’s voice, slightly muffled by the closed door: “I’m terribly sorry again, Miss… er… signora!”
Ewan let out a tired sigh and reached for the port.
“Good heavens, what is that?” Lady St. Clair’s voice carried across the elegant drawing room of Worthington House, her fan snapping shut with audible disdain.
Samantha turned from her conversation with Jane and their uncle to witness yet another of Lord Stonehall’s theatrical displays. The young viscount approached through the gathering crowd, his arms wrapped around an enormous bouquet thatappeared to contain half the contents of Covent Garden’s flower market.
“Lady Jane,” Lord Stonehall announced, his voice projecting with stage-worthy confidence, “I present to you the most beautiful blooms England has to offer, though they pale in comparison to your radiance.”
Jane’s cheeks flushed as she accepted the towering arrangement. “Lord Stonehall, this is… quite overwhelming.”
“Overwhelmingly ridiculous,” Samantha muttered, earning a sharp look from her uncle.
