Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,21

agree. Of course, those old crows would never approve of her. She didn’t blend in. In a sea of two-dimensional pastel misses, Miss Jackson’s striking character, not to mention her bright red hair, would disrupt the calming image of gentle perfection.

Blackheart came into view just as Jules rounded the corner. A deep scowl etched a line in the duke’s forehead, and he wore traveling clothes.

Something must be remiss. “Lucas?” There would always be worry when any of them were involved in a military conflict.

“No.” Blackheart straightened his shoulders. “To my knowledge, his unit is still camped on the coast.” Blackheart rarely was kept in the dark on anything, so Jules exhaled a sigh of relief.

Blackheart turned his head and stared down the foyer, grimaced, and then turned his black eyes on Jules again. “Lost a wager to deuced Greys and now I need to set my affairs in order.”

Jules raised his brows. Wagers placed by the lofty marquess were never insignificant ones. “Your affairs?”

“It seems I’ll be inconveniently occupied until the Season concludes.”

“What about your sisters?” If Blackheart was inconveniently occupied, how would the twins make their come-out?

Tabetha had kept Jules informed of far more details for the coming Season than he had ever wished to know.

“Lady Ravensdale and Lady Hawthorne are sponsoring them, so I have no worries there. They’ll return to Crescent Park with me today, however, and they’re none too happy about that.” Black’s annoyance had Jules even more curious as to what he and Greystone had wagered.

Jules didn’t press. He’d learn of the wager soon enough from the others. “Give Tempest and his mother my condolences, if you speak with them.” Arthur Gilcrest’s family’s property bordered Crescent Park.

“I will.” Blackheart swallowed hard. Jules presumed that Blackheart’s brother was never far from his worries. “Has Jackson’s chit accepted you?”

The question surprised him. “She will.” Failure was never an option.

Blackheart nodded. “I won’t commiserate with you quite yet.” He reached out a hand, apparently eager to make his departure. “I thank you for your hospitality. Will you extend my gratitude to your mother as well? I imagine I’ll run into you soon enough.”

Jules laughed, curious about the bet, but just as he went to bid his friend safe travels, a flash of femininity dressed in evergreen muslin came rushing around the corner, nearly careening into them.

“Pardon me.” Miss Jackson’s eyes widened when she caught sight of Blackheart. “Your Grace.” And to Jules. “Sir.”

Blackheart laughed under his breath and tipped his hat, stepping backward. “No worries, Miss Jackson. But I’m afraid I must be on my way. Good day, Madam. Best of luck to you, Westerley.”

At the same time Blackheart began striding away, Jules’ little American moved to skirt quietly around him.

“Miss Jackson.”

She halted and turned a cool gaze in his direction. “Yes?”

He had not been mistaken, then. She had been avoiding him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am.” She seemed a little startled by her admission.

Jules stepped tentatively in her direction, feeling rather as though she might take flight if he approached her too quickly.

“You don’t look as though you are enjoying yourself presently. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you are annoyed at something in particular.” Jules tilted his head and peered into bright green eyes. “Or someone?”

She lifted one hand in the air, pointing a single finger upward, and then lowered it toward him. “You.”

He’d sensed as much and yet her very deliberate answer jolted him. Earlier, she had declared her intent to refuse him, but she’d tolerated him well enough. His heart rate kicked up a notch, and his fingers tingled. “Because I intend to court you?”

“Because you are a phony. That is why.”

Her answer ought to enrage him, but it was mostly… confusing. “I have been perfectly honest with you.”

Her eyes narrowed and pink spots appeared on her cheeks. Her fiery tresses had been knotted behind her head into what ought to have been a tidy chignon, but enough tendrils had escaped to lend her a somewhat harried appearance.

“My honor this, my honor that. And yet I learn that you are promised to another lady? How will Lady Felicity feel when she sees you with me?”

Jules could almost believe she was jealous—if he didn’t know better, that was.

She was wrong about this, however, and it irritated him that she’d been led to believe otherwise. “I am not promised to Lady Felicity.”

“Tell that to your sisters.” Miss Jackson frowned.

Jules inhaled a deep breath and then slowly let it out. His meddling younger