Romney Marsh Trilogy by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQN
Published: 2008-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“SHE KNOWS,” Ethan said shortly, slamming down his curly brimmed beaver before leaning both palms on Chance Becket’s desk at the War Office and glaring at him. “Christ, man, and you work here? The way you keep secrets, I’m surprised we aren’t all speaking French by now.”

Chance remained calm, already understanding who she was, and knowing it never paid to overreact to anything that she might do. After all, at the bottom of it, Morgan was a Becket and, wild as she might sometimes be, obstinate as she might often be, she was never a fool. “What does she know?”

Ethan pushed away from the desk, subsiding into one of the chairs that faced it, but still glaring, because it felt good to glare. “I don’t know. Some of it? All of it? Enough. What in blazes did you write in your little missive home to Papa?”

“She—bloody hell, I left it on the table in the foyer because the maids were still fussing about in my study.” Chance looked at Ethan. “She found the letter and read it? Never mind answering. If she found it, she read it. Although I’m surprised you’re still in one piece. Amazed, frankly, that I am. What did she tell you?”

Ethan shook his head. “Has it occurred to you, Chance, that the two of us, grown men, are sitting here, mutually afraid of one small female?”

“Oh, not afraid. Not really.”

“Not really, you say? Then pick another word, why don’t you,” Ethan said, pointing to the drinks table as he stood up, then returning Chance’s nod before pouring them both glasses of wine.

“Careful. Cautious. Strong, yet allowing enough leeway as to not bring disaster down on all our heads—it’s difficult to narrow everything down to one word.”

“So we’ll stick with afraid, why don’t we?” Ethan suggested, handing Chance a glass. “Because, my new friend, I’m afraid you’ve bungled this one badly, and I’m paying the price. We may all be paying the price.”

Chance took a sip of wine, looked at Ethan, then decided to down the entire contents of the glass. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that she may have taken exception to being shipped to Becket Hall without being asked, her Season over before it’s really begun. Meaning that the idea that she might be infatuated with me—ramshackle as I am—didn’t anger her half so much as learning that you think she won’t remember my name next week.”

Chance looked at his empty glass, wishing it full again. “Sorry about the ramshackle.”

“Thank you for that, at least,” Ethan said, putting down his own empty glass and picking up his hat. “You’ll be happy to know that your sister does not wish to marry me and is, in fact, only agreeing to allow me to accompany her to Becket Hall as long as I refrain from asking her to marry me. She was very clear on that head. Excruciatingly clear.”

Chance nodded, not at all ashamed to feel relief flooding him. “That sounds like Morgan. Never wants to do anything anyone wants her to do.

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