brought it up.
“No, it isn’t,” she said without a flinch. “I have not claimed to love Theodore.”
It was difficult to catch a person up if they wouldn’t indulge in a self-serving lie. Whatever else she might be guilty of, Emmaline Farnsworth seemed devoted to baldly telling the truth.
“However, whether or not I love your brother is an intensely personal matter and not a topic of discussion I ought to pursue with you, milord.” She dropped a shallow curtsey. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way now.”
She turned and headed toward the door.
“Without anything to read?” he called after her. Wasn’t that why she’d invaded his library in the first place? He waved a hand toward the Shakespeare she’d left on the floor. “What about Titus Andronicus ?”
“I’ve read it,” she said. “Too violent for my taste.”
“I find that difficult to believe from a woman who’s just done her best to geld me.”
She flashed him a grimace and slipped out the door. Devon stood perfectly still until the swish of her kid soles on the marble floors faded completely.
He expected his headache to descend once more. He had no idea why it had miraculously disappeared. It usually took all of a day to recover from a full-blown migraine after spending the night using his gift, but from the first moment his lips had touched Miss Farnsworth’s, his head had felt perfectly fine.
He wished he could say the same for his balls.
So, Emmaline Farnsworth wasn’t the light-heeled chit he took her for. She was honest. Painfully honest about both her reaction to his kiss and her relationship with his brother. Devon couldn’t find reason to fault her.
He ought to have been satisfied, except for the niggling worry that there was something else afoot, something besides a misalliance in the making in Miss Farnsworth’s attachment to his brother. Instead his gut roiled in a jumbled mess. Something was very wrong here. There was nothing specific he could point to, but he’d learned to trust his instinct in such matters.
He’d watch the American lady and her father like a mastiff guarding the estate grounds.
Devon started to bend down to pick up the discarded Titus Andronicus, but stopped himself before his fingertips brushed the tome. The last time he’d retrieved something Emmaline had dropped, he’d seen himself kissing her.
What if the next vision showed him shagging her silly?
While his body applauded this line of thinking, his head rejected it as disloyal to Teddy in the extreme. Even if Emmaline would let him take her to bed, how could it be worth betraying his brother?
Devon swallowed down the tightness in his throat.
She was so soft and sweet, a disreputable part of him thought she’d definitely be worth it.
He might have been able to rationalize kissing the girl to save his brother from her. Swiving her was another thing altogether.
He strode from the room, leaving Shakespeare on the floor. Baxter would pick it up later. Devon couldn’t chance it. He didn’t want to know.
If he was destined to defile his brother’s fiancée, he preferred to let the fact that he was a Judas come to him as a surprise.
“You’re certain the old man still has it?” The gentleman raised the pint to his lips and sipped the sour ale, pinky out, dainty as a doily.
Thomas O’Malley suppressed a grunt of disgust. Whatever contempt he might feel for his employer, it wouldn’t do to openly disrespect the man who paid the bills.
The jacket his lordship sported was shiny in spots with wear. O’Malley suspected he’d dressed carefully, probably borrowing threadbare clothing from his valet in order to blend in with the working-class pub patrons. His true breeding, however, showed in every foppishly aristocratic movement.
“O’ course, Farnsworth still has it.” Thomas O’Malley tossed back half of his pint and then swiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve. No fancy-arsed manners for the likes of him. “I tailed him
“No, it isn’t,” she said without a flinch. “I have not claimed to love Theodore.”
It was difficult to catch a person up if they wouldn’t indulge in a self-serving lie. Whatever else she might be guilty of, Emmaline Farnsworth seemed devoted to baldly telling the truth.
“However, whether or not I love your brother is an intensely personal matter and not a topic of discussion I ought to pursue with you, milord.” She dropped a shallow curtsey. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way now.”
She turned and headed toward the door.
“Without anything to read?” he called after her. Wasn’t that why she’d invaded his library in the first place? He waved a hand toward the Shakespeare she’d left on the floor. “What about Titus Andronicus ?”
“I’ve read it,” she said. “Too violent for my taste.”
“I find that difficult to believe from a woman who’s just done her best to geld me.”
She flashed him a grimace and slipped out the door. Devon stood perfectly still until the swish of her kid soles on the marble floors faded completely.
He expected his headache to descend once more. He had no idea why it had miraculously disappeared. It usually took all of a day to recover from a full-blown migraine after spending the night using his gift, but from the first moment his lips had touched Miss Farnsworth’s, his head had felt perfectly fine.
He wished he could say the same for his balls.
So, Emmaline Farnsworth wasn’t the light-heeled chit he took her for. She was honest. Painfully honest about both her reaction to his kiss and her relationship with his brother. Devon couldn’t find reason to fault her.
He ought to have been satisfied, except for the niggling worry that there was something else afoot, something besides a misalliance in the making in Miss Farnsworth’s attachment to his brother. Instead his gut roiled in a jumbled mess. Something was very wrong here. There was nothing specific he could point to, but he’d learned to trust his instinct in such matters.
He’d watch the American lady and her father like a mastiff guarding the estate grounds.
Devon started to bend down to pick up the discarded Titus Andronicus, but stopped himself before his fingertips brushed the tome. The last time he’d retrieved something Emmaline had dropped, he’d seen himself kissing her.
What if the next vision showed him shagging her silly?
While his body applauded this line of thinking, his head rejected it as disloyal to Teddy in the extreme. Even if Emmaline would let him take her to bed, how could it be worth betraying his brother?
Devon swallowed down the tightness in his throat.
She was so soft and sweet, a disreputable part of him thought she’d definitely be worth it.
He might have been able to rationalize kissing the girl to save his brother from her. Swiving her was another thing altogether.
He strode from the room, leaving Shakespeare on the floor. Baxter would pick it up later. Devon couldn’t chance it. He didn’t want to know.
If he was destined to defile his brother’s fiancée, he preferred to let the fact that he was a Judas come to him as a surprise.
“You’re certain the old man still has it?” The gentleman raised the pint to his lips and sipped the sour ale, pinky out, dainty as a doily.
Thomas O’Malley suppressed a grunt of disgust. Whatever contempt he might feel for his employer, it wouldn’t do to openly disrespect the man who paid the bills.
The jacket his lordship sported was shiny in spots with wear. O’Malley suspected he’d dressed carefully, probably borrowing threadbare clothing from his valet in order to blend in with the working-class pub patrons. His true breeding, however, showed in every foppishly aristocratic movement.
“O’ course, Farnsworth still has it.” Thomas O’Malley tossed back half of his pint and then swiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve. No fancy-arsed manners for the likes of him. “I tailed him
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