Page 7 of Ruthless with a Rogue
“I wish it weren’t so, dearest.Such is the lot of a woman in this life.We must conform or risk ostracization.However…” Her aunt’s eyes glinted mischievously, a cunning little smile curving her lips.“You would be surprised how easy it is to control a husband who underestimates your intelligence.”
Poor Uncle Nigel hadn’t stood a chance.Though considering how utterly besotted the two were, Livy didn’t think he’d minded.
“You know, dear, I do think some of this looks to be in our favor.It says here that the best dress is one without excessive adornments as it will take away from the female’s form.”Aunt Mellie took a sip of wine and glanced at the stray dresses lying on Livy’s bed.“We have no money for excesses, so that works out quite nicely.”
Livy snorted, and her aunt grinned.“My housekeeper and I altered my dresses to the best of our ability.Though I don’t have enough to get through the remainder of the season…” And beyond that, it would be painfully clear her gowns were worn and hardly made of the finest silks.
“We shall just have to find you a husband quickly, won’t we?I met your Uncle Nigel at the first ball I attended, recall.”Her aunt raised a blonde brow, a teasing glimmer in her blue eyes.
Though her aunt said it in jest, a tightness built in Livy’s chest.Her aunt didn’t realize how much her statement rang true.She needed to convince Warrenshewas his perfect wife.Before he found someone else.
“I just know you will ensnare the men of the ton.”Aunt Mellie set down her wineglass and clapped her hands.“Our first ball is tomorrow.And it’s theChesterfieldBall.Are you excited?This is going to be so much fun!”
Livy smiled at her aunt’s exuberance as she walked over to her satchel.“I am excited.And nervous.I hope our preparations are enough.”I hope I will be enough.But it wasn’t just that.Livy had attended her fair share of country dances.But a London ball?Her stomach squirmed.Everything was more relaxed in the country.More free.
Livy pulled her notes out of her bag, her gaze sweeping over them.She’d much rather curl up against a tree with her newest text on calculus by Mr.Frederick Hodge, but this was who she needed to be.A viscount’s wife would need to host her own balls.
“Nerves are normal, Olivia.Don’t you worry, with your plan”—Aunt Mellie nodded toward the papers in Livy’s hand—“I have the utmost faith you will make an excellent match.”
Over the past week, Livy had devised a battle plan of sorts.If there was one thing she was good at, it was studying.And she had put all her focus into studying society.Debrett’swas filed away in her mind, ready to be recalled at a moment’s notice.
And this plan she’d devised?Ended with her as the Honorable Mrs.Warren Thorton.Once she proved to Warren that she would make him the perfect wife, she would never have to worry about being forgotten.She would never have to worry about being found lacking.
6
Derek
The next night.
Derek took another sip of his red wine and grinned as Dorothea, the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest and his best mate’s beloved grandmother, put up with her grandson’s ribald jokes over dinner at Ironcrest House.
She was a thin, petite woman, with glistening silver hair always perfectly styled, her person always perfectly attired.She was every inch the duchess she had been bred to be, from her polished exterior to her core of inner strength.With a bit of a sardonic, dark twist.Which made her that much more loveable.
He loosely cradled his wineglass, waiting for Rafe to crack his grandmother’s composure.What would the attempt be tonight?Raphael Sinclair, the Duke of Ironcrest, and Derek’s best mate since they’d first met at Harrow, sat across from him.Dark hair cropped close to his head, with his severe brow and white-puckered scar interrupting his otherwise smooth, pale skin, Rafe painted a slightly terrifying picture.Especially with his nearly permanent scowl in place.
Rafe and he were one in the same.They both understood there was little to appreciate in this world.Both knew that the world fed on hate, on destruction, thrived on it.It was why Rafe almost never smiled.It was why every one of Derek’s smiles was mocking.He’d learned from a young age how to sayfuck youwith a grin.
“Did you know, Grandmama, that Derek had to climb out Lady Seville’s bedroom window last night?Lord Seville was beating down the door.”Rafe turned his flat grey gaze on Derek, the faintest of sparks glinting there.As much amusement as that gaze ever held.Always only for Derek or Dorothea.
Derek’s lips twitched.Way to throw a man under a coach and four.“Arsehole”,he mouthed.That spark glowed brighter.
Dorothea slowly turned her head in Derek’s direction from where she sat at the head of the table, her assessing brown gaze locking on his.She arched a perfectly manicured silver brow.
Derek lifted a shoulder.“The woman clearly didn’t know how to have an affair.For her sake, I hope I was able to impart some wisdom for her next attempt.”
Dorothea looked down at her plate and meticulously cut a piece of her lambchop.“I do hope you used adequate protection, Derek.”
He abruptly broke out coughing, red droplets of wine spraying across the ivory linen tablecloth.He glanced wide-eyed at Rafe, pounding his chest and desperately trying to draw in air.Rafe’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, even with the frown still in place.Derek glared at his friend.You will pay for that.But beneath the ire was only fondness, warmth stirring in his chest at the rare laughter.
“Lord Seville is known to frequent some very…low-end academies.Who knows what diseases he has picked up from those hedge whores.You really should be more discerning in your choice of bedpartners.”
Rafe’s jaw dropped open, a choked sound coming from him.“Dear Lord, Grandmama,” he wheezed.“How in bloody hell do you know about academies?And the ones Seville frequents, for that matter?”
Dorothea shot an amused glance between the two men.Derek met Rafe’s identical slack-jawed expression and then looked back at the dainty slip of a woman.This was the woman the entire ton revered as the embodiment of a perfect duchess.A paragon.And here she was…speaking of prostitutes and syphilis.
Dorothea’s smile faded, and her gaze lifted heavenward.“Do you forget who I was married to?Who I birthed?You think a whorehouse is scandalous?”She leaned forward, her brown eyes turning hard.“I know things that would make you boys blush.And your stomachs turn.”Her gaze slid to Rafe's.“I don't think I need to remind you what your father partook in.”Rafe's jaw snapped shut, his gaze shuttering.
“Do not flatter yourself, thinking you’ve invented caterwauling and debauchery.”She popped the lamb in her mouth, chewing delicately.
