Page 37 of Rules for Heiresses
The sharp rap on the door knocked them both from the intense standoff. “Your Grace?” Rawley called. “Your brother is here and insists on seeing you immediately.”
Ravenna froze. What was Stinson doing here?
“Fine,” the duke bit out. “Give me a few minutes and have Morgan show him in.”
She blew out a breath, furious at being dismissed as though she didn’t warrant any more of his attention. He’d already shut her out and closed down. It was in his very mien, in his shuttered gaze and taut mouth. She was tempted to rail and scream, and shake some sense into him, but this was neither the time nor the place.
“Lord Borne, Your Grace,” the butler intoned.
Ignoring Courtland’s derisive snort at the announcement, Ravenna turned as her brother-in-law walked in. Stinson looked the same. Tall, elegant, and handsome. There was a definite resemblance between the brothers, and Ravenna was struck by the similarities, some she’d never picked up on until they were in the same room side by side.
Notwithstanding Stinson’s stark, pale skin and Courtland’s golden-brown complexion, they shared the same bone structure in their high-bladed cheekbones and angular jaws. Though Stinson’s hair was chestnut while his brother’s was jet black, it was obvious to anyone that they were related.
She frowned at Stinson. The curious lack of joy at seeing his brother alive struck her as decidedly odd. She was missing something, it seemed. Something that had to do with the chasm between them.
“So it’s true then?” Stinson demanded without preamble, eyes widening and then filling with unadorned bitterness when they landed on her. “You’ve married.”
“Yes” came the duke’s eventual reply, his glacial gaze panning between them. “You are acquainted with my duchess.”
Stinson tensed but then bowed. “I am.”
Ravenna felt a looming presence and knew that the duke had come to stand beside her. Whether that was for her benefit or Stinson’s, she did not know. A hand rested at the small of her back, his thumb brushing against her gown, and she bit her lip, cursing her body’s instant and stupid response. This was part of the performance, nothing more.
Gnashing her teeth, she pushed a smile to her face and stepped out of his touch, moving toward her old friend. Ravenna felt her husband’s glare against her back but she ignored it.
“Stinson,” she greeted him fondly, hands outstretched. “It’s been an age. You look well. How’s everyone?”
Instead of kissing her hand, Stinson took it and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Ravenna heard the growl before her brain registered any hint of danger, but the look on Courtland’s face was enough to make a grown man quail. “Get your damn hands off my wife.”
Ravenna frowned. “My lord duke, what has gotten into you?”
He glared down at her, his eyes chips of stark black ice and his nostrils flared as though he was holding on to his control by the slimmest of margins. “Leave us.”
Her temper blazed at the curt demand. Howdarehe order her about?
“Please don’t depart on my account, dearest,” Stinson drawled, clearly unconcerned by the murderous scene unfolding in front of him. “You’re family now, after all. I admit the news took me by surprise, but you’ve always been precious to me.”
Her husband’s fingers flexed at his sides at the endearment and the declaration. Ravenna could have sworn there was a nasty edge in Stinson’s voice, some unspoken communication passing between the brothers, but Stinson’s face held the wide, unaffected, friendly smile he always used with her. A perverse part of her wanted to stay just to flout Courtland’s demands, but she couldn’t bring herself to defy him in front of others, even if it was only his brother.
“Perhaps another time then,” she said with the most gracious smile she could manage given the simmering frustration beneath her skin. “It’s good to see you, Stinson.”
His lips curled upward. “And you. I look forward to catching up soon.”
“It’sLordStinson,” Courtland hissed at her before glaring at his brother. “And definitely not Lord Borne as announced, considering his borrowed title of marquess is now obsolete. And no you won’t see each other, not if I can help it.”
Shocked at his vicious tone, Ravenna blinked up at the stone-faced duke and shook her head. His expression was positively glacial, rage emanating from him in thick waves. A stormy possessiveness also glittered in his eyes, which baffled her. A few moments ago, he couldn’t wait to get away from her, yet now he was behaving like a lion whose pride had been trespassed upon by another.
Perhaps it was a different kind of pride. As inmalepride. He didn’t want her, but no one else could have her either. The man was simply impossible to predict! Ravenna gritted her teeth, stifling the burst of anger, and swept from the room before she did or said something she regretted. Perhaps when she was calmer and her husband was more amenable, she would revisit the subject of Stinson. Revisit the subject ofthem, too.
In the meantime, she had her own battles to fight.
* * *
“To what do I owe the visit, Brother?” Courtland asked after his wife had left, stalking over to the mantel and pouring himself a liberal drink. It probably wouldn’t help with his headache, which had lessened a little, but he needed it so as not to decimate the man currently ensconced in his study. He did not offer his uninvited guest a drink.
He hadn’t cared that Stinson had been throwing himself about as their father’s remaining heir—or that he’d all too happily assumed the courtesy title of the Marquess of Borne with Courtland supposedly deceased—but seeing his hands upon Ravenna had awakened a primal deadly instinct inside of him.
“Why are you here?” The question from his half brother was blunt and belligerent.
