Wicked in Your Arms by Sophie Jordan Page B

oddly hollow inside at the bitter realization that she had to do very little to attract a husband. If Jack was to be believed, she need merely be obliging and she’d soon have a proposal. Her father did it all, everything , by offering a king’s ransom to the man who married her. It was humiliating when considered in that light.
    She lifted her gaze back to her sister and read some of the same disillusionment in Cleo’s gaze. They were sacrificing any hope, any dream of a man marrying them . . . for them . For affection . . . for love.
    Unwanted, the image of Prince Sevastian rose in her mind. At least he’d been attracted to her. Even if his manner had been wholly offensive, he’d made no attempt to hide that he’d found her desirable. Could she even expect that from her future husband?
    She sighed and closed her eyes, pressing at the backs of her eyelids with her fingertips where they ached.
    Yet the reward was great—respectability, security, comfort in home and hearth, in knowing a roof would forever be over her head. Having lived on the brink of poverty and hunger, Grier and Cleo both knew that these things were essential in life. They did not take such things for granted.
    â€œI’ll be more obliging next time,” she promised, meaning it. She’d agreed to this venture. She might as well go about it in earnest. No more dragging her feet.
    â€œVery good. I expect to see an improvement.” He nodded. “We leave tomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow?” Cleo sat up straighter, suddenly alert. “For where?”
    Jack puffed up his chest a bit. “The Dowager Duchess of Bolingbroke has graciously invited us to her country seat for a week. Along with a few other feted guests. It’s a great honor. Not many among the ton are gifted with an invitation to a house party at Pemberton Manor.”
    A house party. There would be no escape this time. Grier swallowed. She could not hide behind potted plants or in her rooms for the week.
    A small shudder racked her before she summoned her resolve once again. This was for the best. She was no coward. She’d set herself on this course, and she’d see it through.
    Jack pointed a finger at each of them. “I expect one of you to snare the youngest grandson, the viscount. And while we’re there it wouldn’t hurt to focus some attention on the duke as well.”
    â€œYou said the dowager told you he was not for us,” Cleo reminded as their carriage slowed before their father’s Mayfair home, an obscenely large monstrosity that perfectly summed up the ambitions of Jack Hadley.
    He shrugged. “So use your wiles. He’s a red-blooded man.” He waved at each of them. “He can just as easily fall for one of you as any other chit. You’re more comely than some of those horse-faced hags the ton boasts.”
    A groom opened the door just then and her father clambered down from the carriage. He strode up the steps and into the house, leaving them to descend the carriage with the help of a groom.
    Arms linked, Grier and her sister advanced up the steps side-by-side.
    â€œIt will be a small group,” Cleo voiced, and Grier wasn’t certain who she was trying to reassure—herself or Grier. “No mad crush of another holiday ball or soiree.”
    â€œThere is that,” Grier agreed.
    â€œAnd we’ll be away from Town for an entire week.”
    A smile curled her lips all the way up to her bedchamber. The thought of fresh air and trees and unfettered winds lifted her spirits. She wouldn’t have to visit Hyde Park for a ride on one of her father’s placid mares. The next time she climbed atop a horse she would race the wind. The breeze would tear at her eyes. She’d feel the pins tug loose in her hair.
    A sleepy-looking maid arrived and helped her from her gown into her night rail. When the girl offered to help her with her hair, Grier waved her away,