Page 29 of Rules for Heiresses
“Fancy a drink, little fairy?”
From her place on the happily empty promenade deck, Ravenna glared at the odious man whose smirk made her want to punch him in his smug face. “Call me that again, Mr. Sommers, and you won’t be smiling.”
“I can see why he wants you.”
She threw an arm blearily across her face. “Who does?”
To Ravenna’s absolute dismay, the man plunked his bulk down in the chaise that sat a few feet away from hers. “Ashvale, of course.”
He settled in, to Ravenna’s alarm. Even the slightest noise made her head throb. Peabody, bless his tiny, mouselike valet heart, had brought her a cure-all headache tincture early this morning when she’d woken up in the duke’s wonderful bed, but the effects were already wearing off.
Sommers smiled unpleasantly at her. “You’re quite a firebrand.”
“I prefer to be direct, sir.”
“Aren’t all posh Englishwomen supposed to be demure and quiet?”
Are all American men so obtuse?
Thankfully, her reckless, brazen tongue did not communicate that. “We come in all shapes and sizes, Mr. Sommers.”
“I see that.”
This time she did not mistake the lewd gaze that swept down the fitted front of her modest walking ensemble. There was nothing to see, no daring décolletage on display. No, the Garibaldi shirt buttoned to her neck, but one would think that she was one of the puddings served at dinner, the way the man ogled her person.
She wished her husband was close by so he could put the man in his place, but the duke was not, so it was up to her. “It’s rude to stare, Mr. Sommers.”
His expression went hawkish. “I can’t help admiring a beautiful woman.”
“I am married, sir.”
“So am I.”
What a brute. Ravenna closed her eyes, once more with the hope that he’d take the obvious hint that she did not want company. How did one indicate one wasnot at homewhen out in public? She wished she had a fan. She could swat it open and place it on her left ear, clearly statingI wish to get rid of you. Or perhaps a slow, deliberate fanning movement, one that would indicateDon’t waste your time. I don’t care about you.Not that Mr. Clodhead would get it. She put a hand to her temples, unable to suppress a groan.
“Are you enjoying the voyage?” he asked.
“Most days.”
Sommers laughed, and the sound was like cannons firing. Oh, good heavens, why wouldn’t the dratted mango?
She tried to get the attention of Lady Waterstone who had just appeared on the foredeck and was giggling and leaning over the railing gazing into the depths of the ocean. Lord Waterstone appeared behind her, making her squeal. The blond gentleman whispered something to her that made her turn in his arms and then burst into laughter. The obvious closeness between the two of them made envy flood Ravenna’s veins.
She wobbled to her feet, and her nemesis, Mr. Sommers, was quick to follow. “May I escort you back to your stateroom, my lady? Or perhaps to one of the lounges?”
The man was a slimy prick. She couldn’t countenance that her husband was in any kind of business with such a man, yet here he was traveling with them like an esteemed guest. Despite her irritation, curiosity dug at her. Perhaps she could find out why.
“Walk with me, Mr. Sommers,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t be rid of him so easily and choosing to get some answers instead. “Let’s take a turn about the ship.” He offered her his arm, but she did not take it—a small breach of etiquette that she hoped he would not notice. His small frown appeared and disappeared in the same breath. “So tell me, how do you know the duke?”
“We’ve done some business together over the years.”
“Business?” she inquired, though her stomach clenched at the implication.
“Trade and investments, among other things.”
What other things?
Ravenna frowned. Courtland didn’t strike her as a man who dabbled in illegal affairs. Then again, how well did she know the man she’d married? She had known the boy during her childhood, but she of all people knew how easily a person could change. And Courtland had deeply buried secrets that had to do with Stinson and his family.
