The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection by Dorothy McFalls Page B

a light sheen of tears.
    “Please, Radford, try not to fuss so. You will surely make yourself ill again.” She believed him an invalid, unable to care for himself. Many a time she had complained how his valet was inadequate to see after his care. He needed to hire a nurse, she had told him for the sixth time just that morning at breakfast. The helplessness her loving care provoked only added flames to his fiery temper.
    Wynter’s grin didn’t help either. “Looking to put three sheets to the wind before introducing your mother to the woman you have decided to marry, eh Evers?”
    “Go to the devil,” Radford roared, forgetting for a moment his mother’s delicate ears.
    Lady Evers released Radford immediately. Her cheeks flooded with color. “Is this true?” she whispered the question as if afraid she had heard Wynter wrong.
    Radford huffed and tripped his way to the sideboard. He hadn’t planned on involving his mother in his courting process, at least not so soon. She would be sorely disappointed if he failed. Thanks to his friend —he sent Wynter a killing glance—his mother would undoubtedly put all her energies into seeing the deed done.
    “I have not exactly decided to marry her, Mother.” It was a hopeless gesture. Her eyes were beaming brighter than the sun. He splashed a bit of brandy into a glass. “She barely knows me, in fact.”
    “But she will have you,” Lady Evers said with determination. “She must. Who is this lady you have selected? I trust she is from a respectable family?”
    “Oh yes,” Wynter answered before Radford could attempt to dissuade his mother from having him married and off to Scotland for his honeymoon before the evening was out. “Her father is the Duke of Newbury.”
    “Newbury!” Lady Evers clutched her hands to her heart.
    Her sudden look of rapture pleased Radford. He was doing the right thing. This marriage was exactly what his mother needed.
    “There could not be a better choice. All of his daughters were raised to be proper ladies. Not an unseemly trait in the lot. I heartily approve of your choice. Heartily.”
    She threw herself in his arms with such force his glass spilled and his lame leg bowed—reminding him. Lady Lillian might not be interested in marrying half a man.
    “She has not accepted me, Mother,” he warned. “I have not even formally declared my interests.”
    Nothing he could say could diminish her enthusiasm or quell her planning. In her mind, the marriage was a certainty.
    “You will just have to pay a visit to the duke on the morrow to declare yourself, son.”
    Wynter snickered and wisely stayed out of punching range. “Shall we depart? I daresay there is a certain Newbury daughter breathlessly awaiting your speedy appearance, Evers.”
    Radford glowered. The thought of seeing Lady Lillian again and having to woo the pretty young thing made his stomach churn. She might not take to him. She was young and pretty. Surely, such a woman wouldn’t feel compelled to settle.
    But what was he to do?
    He straightened his shoulders and tugged on his dove gray gloves. The deed was done. He would not, no matter what he felt in his heart, disappoint his mother.
    * * * *
    The concert dragged at a painfully slow pace. Though the entertainment was first rate and the company friendly, May found maintaining her gracious smile a tiresome chore. Mr. Tumblestone fawned over her, her uncle scowled over her choice of gowns, and the fool Lord Evers flirted shamelessly with Lady Lillian.
    She needed to escape . . . just for a moment . . . to catch her breath.
    At an intermission, May slipped into the duke’s darkened library and swiftly closed the door behind her. She let out the breath she’d been holding and slumped against the door. This evening was intolerable.
    “Perhaps I should call a constable, my pretty thief.”
    From the far side of the room an ember blazed as it floated up the flue from the banked fire. Other than that brief light, darkness