Page 76 of The Heart of an Earl

“Did she not speak to you today when you arrived back?”

“Three minutes’ worth.”

“Ah.” Wolfbridge nodded with a sigh. “It is an improvement.”

Des looked at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Is it? I would have thought going to Troubant Manor to settle affairs would have given her the time she needed to ease her anger.”

“She’s stubborn like her mother.”

“Corentine, I could always wait out. But with Vicky…her anger at me knows no bounds and I don’t have the time.”

“Don’t have the time? You have all the time in the world. And it’s only been a month and a half since you’ve been back.”

“I’ve missed eighteen years of her life—so no, no, I don’t have the time.” Des flicked a nod of his head across the ballroom to the center white pillars. “And now she continues to encourage the attentions of that fop, Lord Flouten. Three glasses of punch he’s brought her. And the punch is not mixed with a light hand. She’s far too young for any of this and he thinks to get her foxed.”

Wolfbridge scoffed. “You married Corentine at this age.”

Des shook his head, his look boring into Lord Flouten. “That never should have happened—she was too young.”

Wolfbridge chuckled, taking a sip of port. “And now you know how I felt when you took my sister from me. I never should have brought you home from Eton.” His glare narrowed, centering on Lord Flouten. “But tell me again how many drinks that idiot has delivered to her?”

“Three. And she’s already danced with him once. And I think he means to dance with her again.”

Lord Flouten’s eyes dipped from Vicky’s face to the bare slope of her breasts. Even from across the expanse the movement was obnoxiously obvious.

Des was going to break the little bastard in two.

“The dowry you settled on her is far too much, Reiner—it’s brought out the dregs of society to sniff about.” Des downed the rest of his wine.

“You may be right on that.” His forefinger flicked out from his glass and Wolfbridge pointed at Vicky and Lord Flouten. “Sloane is determined to gain the very best match for Vicky and I thought I could intimidate the hell out of any man not worthy of her. It worked well enough in London during the season, but I’m not appreciating how this is progressing with this idiotic fop.”

“I’m interceding.” Des took a step to charge across the ballroom.

Wolfbridge grabbed his arm, stopping him. “She’s already irate enough with you. Don’t give her more fodder. I’ll go.”

His fist clenching and unclenching, Des stopped trying to pull free from Wolfbridge’s vise on his arm. His brother-in-law was right.

Unfortunately.

“Fine.”

Wolfbridge released him and nodded. Without a word, the Wolf Duke stalked through the crush in his ballroom, his glare not veering from his prey.

Des watched him, a cold pang of jealousy striking through his chest.

This was supposed to behislife. His daughter to raise. His daughter to protect.

He was more than grateful to Reiner and Sloane for giving Vicky everything—they were her parents, people she had depended upon her whole life. Reiner had done that. Given her a family. Given her cousins she loved as her brothers and sisters. Given her the life he never could have, even if he had returned.

He’d been jaded beyond repair, and now he was merely scrounging for the scattered, long-lost shards of what his life once was. What his life was supposed to be.

No wonder his daughter avoided him at every chance. She could see quite clearly what he was. Broken. Not once, but twice by the cruelty of the curse that hung over him.

Des had to shift his gaze away from Reiner, away from his daughter, and his stare landed on the ornate plaster relief of wolves hunting on the high ceiling of the ballroom. That was new. Wolfbridge Castle never failed to impress.

His look dropped, searching for his daughter. Vicky had moved away from the third column on the left. He scanned the tops of heads. There. Wolfbridge had already interceded and was speaking with Lord Flouten. Now where had Vicky disappeared to?

He set his empty glass down on a passing tray as he searched the edges of the ballroom. Tall, colorful feathers bobbed about the crush, plumes designed to draw attention.

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