Page 6 of Rules for Heiresses
The whispered confession seemed to stump him for a second, but then his face hardened. “Being female doesn’t win you leniency.”
Gracious, he truly was without a heart, but enough was enough.
Ravenna drew up her shoulders, channeled her mother’s hauteur that had been drilled into her since birth, and met his burning gaze. “You are making a grave mistake, Your Grace,” she told him with clipped diction that left no doubt that she was female and of unquestionable high birth. “Either release me at once, or you will not like the consequences, I assure you.”
A menacing growl ripped from his throat. “Don’t threaten me.”
She’d never met such an autocratic man in all her life. One would imagine he was made of fire and brimstone with a clockwork heart beating in his chest. A chill settled over her—this was it, the point of no return. She should have known her freedom or anonymity wasn’t going to last. She had one last hope.
“Then in that case, I doubt the Duke of Embry would appreciate you sending his precious sister to jail, regardless of any error in judgment on your part.”
“Embry’ssister?” he echoed, dark eyes glinting.
He studied her, his face giving away nothing as the chatter in the salon around them grew, the whispers of her identity a delicious on-dit. Scandal tended to have its own decibel level, after all. Ravenna breathed out. “What a delightful surprise to see you alive and well, Cordy.”
* * *
The little hoyden from the neighboring estate in Kettering had grown up into a spitfire. Wearing men’s clothing and cheating at cards inhishotel. What were the odds?
Lady Ravenna Huntley.
Courtland didn’t doubt she was who she claimed to be. When he’d thought her a young gent, something about her face and swagger had struck a vague chord of recognition in him, and when she’d brought up Richard Huntley, it had clicked. He’d assumed her to be a distant relation or some such. But now, as he took in her heart-shaped face, blazing eyes, and that stubborn jaw, he saw distinct signs of the girl he once knew.
Though she wasn’t a girl anymore—she was grown.
In spite of her clever disguise, that much was obvious. His lip curled in irritation. What the devil had she beenthinking?
As if she could sense his thoughts, her chin lifted and she met his gaze with defiance.
“Does Embry know you’re here?” he demanded.
“What do you think?” Her tongue was as cutting as he remembered.
“I think he should put you over his knee.”
She rolled her eyes. “My brother is not a barbarian.”
“Then perhaps the task should fall to me.”
A furious copper gaze slammed into his. “Touch me and you will be the one missing a finger, I promise you. I’ve learned a few things since we were children.”
His brow dipped. He didn’t doubt that, considering she washere, and not tucked away in a ducal residence somewhere in England, being waited on hand and foot like the gently reared lady she was. What the hell was she doing here? And come to think of it, did she have a lick of sense left in that idiot head of hers? She had just announced her identity in a public drawing room while scandalously dressed in men’s clothing. And yes, it was a far step away from London, but oceans didn’t stop gossip.
Swearing under his breath, he shrugged out of his own coat, draped it over her shoulders, and shepherded her from the room to his personal offices, which he should have done from the start. Then his own ill-timed ducal news as well as her revelation would have occurred behind private, closed doors. Too late for any of that.
Bloody hell.
“Drink?” he asked her.
“No, thank you.”
In silence, he poured two fingers of imported French brandy into a tumbler and took a healthy sip. Coppery irises of the same changing hues as the brandy met his. Had her eyes always been that color? He’d remembered them being brown. Her shorn hair was a surprise, the close-cropped curls lying flat beneath the copious pomade. As a girl, her long hair had been braided tight to her scalp and gingery-red—to the point where her brothers had called hergingersnapmercilessly—and not such a dark auburn.
It was no wonder he hadn’t recognized her outright, though some instinct deep within him had sensed…something.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
