Page 15 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

Beautiful?

The word seemed inadequate to describe the way Annabelle Lytton had looked when passion had flushed her cheeks and her eyes had blazed with conviction as she’d defended her stances.

“Beauty is subjective,” he said finally.

“A politician’s answer, if I ever heard one.” Everett’s grin widened. “Which means she’s absolutely stunning, and you’re trying very hard not to admit it.”

“I’m trying very hard to focus on the matter at hand,” Henry corrected sharply. “My daughter’s education and proper guidance toward her debut.”

“Ah, yes, the debut.” Everett’s expression grew thoughtful. “Celia is nearing seventeen, no? She’ll be eighteen next year, and old enough to marry, should she find a suitable gentleman.”

His hands curled into fists before he realized it. “She’s nowhere near ready for marriage. She requires considerable work on her behavior, her understanding of social proprieties?—”

“Her willingness to submit to masculine authority without question?”

Henry drew in a sharp breath. He let it out slowly. “She needs to understand her place in society and the expectations that come with her position.”

“As the daughter of a duke or as a woman?”

“Both.”

Henry felt Everett’s gaze linger. He kept his expression neutral, but the tightening behind his eyes gave him away. Whatever mask he wore, it hadn’t fooled his friend.

“You know,” Everett said casually, “I’ve heard a bit about Miss Lytton over the years. Apparently, she opted to stay with her grandmother these last few years. And for a spinster, people say that she carries herself with remarkable grace.”

“Remarkable grace?” Henry’s voice dripped skepticism. “She’s established herself as a bluestocking who flouts convention at every opportunity.”

“She’s created a life for herself rather than retreating into bitter seclusion,” Everett countered. “Rather admirable, actually. Not many women would have the courage to face society after opting out of the marriage mart. Then again, I hear that the Dowager is quite protective of her.”

Henry said nothing, but his jaw worked as though he were grinding his teeth.

“Of course,” Everett continued with studied nonchalance, “her situation does afford her certain freedoms. She can speak her mind without fear of consequences.”

“Exactly,” Henry said grimly. “She has no understanding of responsibility and flouts the need to consider how one’s actions affect others.”

“Or perhaps she simply refuses to be cowed by the opinions of those who would judge her.” Everett’s tone grew more pointed. “Rather like someone else I know. Someone who also tends to say exactly what he thinks, consequences be damned.”

Henry shot him a sharp look. “We are nothing alike.”

“Are you not?” Everett smiled knowingly. “Two strong-willed individuals, accustomed to getting their own way, neither particularly tolerant of opposition…”

“She is a managing female with no respect for proper authority,” Henry interrupted curtly.

“And you are an autocratic male with no patience for anyone who dares question your pronouncements,” Everett replied smoothly. “Quite a combination, I imagine. Rather explosive, one might say.”

A flicker of memory stirred. There had been a crackle in the air when Miss Lytton stepped close, kept her head held high and dared him. He still felt the heat of it.

“There is no explosion,” he said carefully.

“No?” Everett’s grin returned full force. “Then why do you look as though you’ve been struck by lightning?”

Henry drained his whiskey in one harsh swallow, welcoming the burn that momentarily distracted him from more uncomfortable sensations. “I look irritated because the woman is irritating.”

“Irritating enough to occupy your thoughts for the entire afternoon following your encounter?”

“I’ve been concerned about Celia’s proper education?—”

“Henry.” Everett’s voice carried a note of gentle warning. “We’ve been friends for twenty years. I know when you’re lying to yourself.”

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