The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,12

The name of the man she’d been betrothed to as a child, who’d become a rogue, living quite happily for himself, while she waited on the sidelines. Until she’d tired of it and cut him loose. Or free. One would have thought he saw it as the latter. Alas, he’d never been agreeable in any way. Even in this, their breakup.

Pierce sat up straighter in his seat. “I thought he gave up.”

Isla frowned. “Did he even try to fight for Emma?”

The absolute lack of inflection from her sister proved all the worse.

Morgan tossed the other throw pillow, taking a wider arc around Emma, to catch Isla directly in the side of her head with that soft, feather-stuffed missile. “And I’m the problematic sibling? I wouldn’t go about tossing salt in the wounds of our sister.”

Emma shifted in her seat. “I wouldn’t say it was salt in the wounds.” She knew her siblings all meant well, but God, how she hated that all society, her family included, took her as a hurt and wounded woman. She had been. But long, long ago, before the betrothal had ended.

Isla whipped her gaze toward Emma. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to s-suggest . . . I wasn’t saying—”

“No, no. It is fine,” Emma assured. “You aren’t wrong.” Isla stuck out her tongue at Morgan. “Quite the opposite. You are entirely correct.” After all, “gave up” implied Lord Charles Scarsdale had attempted to keep her. Which he hadn’t. Not. Even. Close. What he had done was go to her father and make an appeal to . . . what? Move forward with a marriage he’d certainly never wanted and one that she had . . . She shoved aside the young, naive thoughts she’d once carried and returned to the matter at hand. “More importantly, however, I do not believe Father has relented on the prospect of . . . a match between us.”

Already identical, the Gately brothers’ features now also formed matching scowls. Isla might have questioned why Emma had decided to include their brothers in the matter of Scarsdale and her parents, but the truth was, there wasn’t a more loyal pair than Morgan and Pierce.

“Fathers,” Olivia spat. “They are terrible, too.”

“Yes, well, fathers are still men,” Isla pointed out.

“This is true,” Olivia agreed.

Pierce, the more easygoing of the twins, turned a frown on her. “I take offense to that.”

Morgan nodded hard. “As do I.”

Pierce snorted. “You shouldn’t. Everyone knows you are of a terrible sort.” He glanced at Olivia and winked. “I, however—”

Olivia laughed. “Very well. With the exception of my brother Owen; Pierce; and on some occasions, Morgan, every other man is terrible.”

“Thank you.” Morgan scrunched up his brow. “I . . . think?”

It was the closest Olivia had ever come, and likely would ever come, to a compliment of the male species. The forgotten daughter of a Waterloo general who’d been titled for his bravery, Olivia had been largely ignored by her father. Her eldest brother, traveling as he did, had proven almost as invisible. Even Owen, the youngest of her brothers, as loving as he was, had been consumed by his work as a barrister.

Morgan brought them back to the topic at hand. “What has Papa said now?”

Emma drew in a breath. “Nothing.”

The gathering of four spoke as one. “Nothing?”

She confirmed that question with a nod. “Nothing,” she repeated. Emma came to her feet, and began to pace. “It has been seven days. An entire week. There have been no summons. No notes sent to my room. Not even angry looks at mealtimes.”

“And this is a problem?” Pierce asked, sounding as befuddled as Morgan looked.

Isla sighed. “Of course it is a problem.”

The twins looked at one another, then back to Isla.

“I’ll help,” Olivia said, sitting forward. “It means something is amiss. It means they have been plotting, and are intending to one day soon corner your sister and maneuver her into marriage”—fury sparked in Olivia’s eyes—“with that . . . with that . . .”

“Scoundrel,” Pierce supplied with all the resentment only a brother could manage.

“Cad,” Isla suggested.

“Sard,” Morgan muttered, earning shocked gasps from Olivia and Isla. Emma laughed for the first time that day, even as Pierce leaned over and slapped their brother on the back of the head.

Morgan flinched, glared at his twin. “Oww,” he cried, rubbing his injury. “What the h—Oww?”

Pierce looked pointedly among the three ladies. “You do not say that in front of . . . in front of . . . them,” he