The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,76
excursions along the way.”
“Truly?” She almost believed him.
He finally smiled, though he didn’t lose his scowl. The effect was a handsome grimace, made all the more attractive for her having goaded him into it. “Well, I would have tried. What sorts of entertainments do you think are along the way to Brixcombe?”
“Sheep.”
He laughed, because it was true. “Montborne always asks us why we don’t visit our pile more often. I should think the reason obvious.”
“A case of the pot and kettle, no? He’s not one much for country living, either.” Not that Roman never visited, for he’d been in Devon while she’d been in confinement. She might have crossed paths with him then if not for the impending arrival of Oliver. According to Celeste, however, she’d been lucky to avoid the marquis. Roman had been brutish and treated Celeste abominably. Elizabeth remained convinced he’d halfway broken her heart.
Actually, now that she recalled his behavior toward Celeste, she really didn’t want to talk about the marquis at all. Her belly roiled as if she were going to be carriage-sick. If Roman had been so thoroughly against Celeste’s attraction to Lord Trestin, a man who wasn’t even related to him, how would he feel about Elizabeth’s hopeless infatuation to his brother?
“I suppose Montborne’s dislike of the country is well known in every circle in London,” Con grumbled. “Or are you particularly close with my brother?”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to make of Con’s question. “I think even the scullery maids know of his preference for city life,” she replied carefully. Was he jealous? Or worse, had Roman already found his ear? Was that why he refused to look at her?
No, that was him smarting because she’d forgotten to tell him about the flooding. She mustn’t make trouble where none existed. But he might be jealous…
She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve known Montborne many years, and I suppose we were friends for a time. Not like he and Celeste were friends. I assume you’re aware of that attachment.”
He looked surprised. “They were…?”
“Together? Nothing like that.” She’d tell him every detail about Celeste and Roman’s tumultuous relationship, if it kept him from remembering to be cross with her.
“If you know Montborne so well, why didn’t you ask him to help you with Oliver?”
She winced. Lord Constantine really must not know how thoroughly Roman had been against Celeste’s marriage to Lord Trestin, to ask a question like that.
She started to reply with something flippant. He leaned forward. He was watching her as if her answer mattered a great deal. Was he really asking, Why me?
“We aren’t exactly on speaking terms, for one,” she answered truthfully, biting back her glib reply. “For two, he has never been able to keep a secret, an issue closely related to the first. For three, I haven’t and never will be attracted to Roman. I think I’ve made my opinion on his pompous vanity clear enough that it would have ringed false if I’d suddenly claimed to have fallen into his arms, even for a single night.”
Con grinned. “So not every lady has a fit of the vapors when he walks by.”
Her insides squeezed. Lady. She’d not been called that since she was a young girl, not with any level of respect. From her parents it had always been, “That is not behavior fit for a lady, Elizabeth,” until the day she’d run away with Captain Moore.
She was still blushing furiously from Con’s slip of the tongue when he leaned back against the squab and crossed his arms over his chest. “My brother thinks you’re manipulating me.”
He may as well have slapped her.
Her mouth opened but before any protest passed her lips, she remembered they weren’t alone. She cast an anxious glance at Mrs. Dalton. A soft snore escaped the young woman.
“How can you say such a thing?” Elizabeth whispered angrily.
“Ah, but is it true? Montborne seems to think he knows you well enough to recognize when you’re using your wiles.” Con gave her a languid once-over. “As much as I wanted to defend you, I couldn’t. I think you know what I’m referring to, Elizabeth.”
Her flesh seemed to catch fire. Embarrassment, or desire? Anger or longing? Fear that he’d found her out, or anticipation to learn what he intended to do with her next?
Con shifted his shoulders against the squab. The bright white of his cravat wrinkled as he tipped his chin down to look up at her with those piercing blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me