The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,19

and even much of their days. They sincerely enjoyed each other.

Warrington occupied the sofa beside Marian, smiling at her in his usual besotted fashion as she regaled them with a tale of Mrs. Pratt’s pig that once invaded their garden. It was a story that largely featured Nora as she had been the one to straddle the beast and ride it back home to their neighbor.

In fact, most of Marian’s stories this evening had revolved around Nora. She frowned. Amusing anecdotes all with Nora at the center.

Marian’s laughter eased. “That’s our Nora. Intrepid as the day is long.”

Sinclair dutifully followed Marian’s gaze to Nora. Despite her sister’s rousing affirmation, his eyes remained coolly unmoved.

Nora sat ramrod straight on the sofa, trying to appear natural beneath their scrutiny.

Marian reached for her glass, but something happened. She lost her grip. It slipped ever so slightly, spilling her drink down the front of her gown. “Oh, clumsy me!” she exclaimed as her husband quickly claimed a napkin for her.

Warrington helped her to her feet. Ever the gentleman, Mr. Sinclair rose to his feet, too.

“Oh, please, don’t get up.” Marian waved one hand in reassurance while she settled her other hand on her husband’s arm. “Stay. Finish your drink. Nora will keep you company.”

Nora stifled a groan. Her sister was the height of obvious. Ever since she had married, ever since Charlotte had married, she had been incorrigible, pelting man after man at Nora. Her matchmaking efforts were unsubtle.

Only Nora could not believe her sister was attempting matchmaking now with Sinclair. The man was scarcely civil to her.

The door thudded shut after them, and it was Nora, Sinclair and the footman in the corner.

Silence fell.

Sinclair looked none too pleased, but that would be no different than how he looked in general . . . at least in their short acquaintance.

She sat in the swelling silence, trying not to let the awkwardness of the moment overtake her. No easy task when her sister and brother-in-law abandoned her to the company of Sinclair in what was an obvious attempt at matchmaking.

She rubbed her sweating palms on her skirts. Sweating palms was a physiological reaction to a stressful situation. Nora supposed this qualified. Sweaty palms. Dilated eyes. Irregular breathing. Nausea even. Yes, yes, yes, yes. At least she wasn’t retching at his feet.

She breathed in and out slowly, trying to ease her nerves.

She glanced to the liveried footman. Danny, she believed his name. He stared ahead, not glancing at them, acting as though he was oblivious to their very existence, but, of course, he was not. Of course, he was listening to their every word and would no doubt report it all later below stairs to those who were interested.

Perhaps Marian was not attempting to matchmake. Nora considered this. It was rather extreme, after all, to imagine herself with a duke. Nora would be the first to declare such a thing absurd. Unfortunately, her sister did not recognize that. Apparently she thought a handsome, virile duke was within Nora’s reach.

Nora dipped her head to hide her smirk. It would be easier for Nora to rope the moon than snare the heir to a dukedom. Even if she wanted to . . . which she resoundingly did not.

Marian could accomplish such a thing. She had accomplished it, after all, because she was Marian. It was within her reach—obviously. With her beauty and grace, Marian naturally slid into the role of duchess. She’d actually served as a companion to a duke’s daughter for a time before Papa died and she had to return home. Marian knew how that world functioned.

Nora did not know or care to know. She actually chafed against the binds of this life and it wasn’t even her life. Not really. This was Marian’s life. Nora was merely included in it.

Perhaps Marian was not matchmaking as much as attempting to soothe over Sinclair’s ruffled feathers. By leaving him alone with me?

Nora almost giggled at that. She was not known for her charming disposition. It usually did not take a gentleman long to make his excuses and leave her company.

Sinclair had not hidden how very aggrieved he was over her deception. Marian had tried to reassure him, little good it had done. He’d not disguised his contempt of her during their garden stroll.

A glimpse of motion drew her attention back to him as he lifted his glass for a drink. She watched him, the way his throat moved, tendons working in the lamplight. He drank deeply, as