isn’t it?” She shook out her skirts and snatched up the remnants of her petticoat.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She balled up the material. “Nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all. What woman wouldn’t be overjoyed to be marrying a man who cares only for money and appearances?” She spun on her heel and with long strides headed to the door.
He stood. “Where are you going?” With a curse, he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. As the lock clicked free, he secured the placket.
She faced him and waved a hand over her rumpled attire. “Thank you very much for the attention, Your Grace. But I can’t possibly return to the ball without petticoats. I’m going to my room to right my appearance, as you suggested.” With a huff, she yanked open the door and gasped. “William.”
Her brother stood with his hand poised where the knob had been only seconds before. Behind him, Markham shot Gareth a shrug.
“Belle, what’s wrong?” William reached for his sister’s shoulder, but she stepped away.
“Nothing. I’ve just ripped my hem.” Her voice caught, and Gareth clenched his fists.
William frowned. “Nothing to cry over, my dear. I’m sure it can be fixed.”
“No, it can’t,” she wailed. “It’s ruined, just like me.” She shoved past her brother and Markham. The sound of her slippers racing down the hall reached Gareth’s ears.
William and Markham stepped into the room. William crossed to his desk. “Care to tell me what that was all about, Grey?”
Gareth ran a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. One minute—” He cleared his throat. William probably could do without the details. “—she was fine and then the next she wasn’t.”
“Well, what did you say to her, old man? I’ve found women rarely get upset without some imagined provocation.” Markham reclined against the wall beside the door.
“I didn’t say anything.” He shook his head. “Everything was fine. More than fine. And then she was accusing me of only caring about money and appearances.”
Markham straightened. “Then I think you have Digby and Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe to thank. Annabelle had the misfortune to overhear them saying you’d compromised her so you could get your hands on her money.” He opened the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have a dance coming up with Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe. I wonder if she enjoys morning rides in the park as much as her fiancé and Lady Evans seem to.”
Gareth looked at William. “Well, it seems as if all our efforts to protect her were for naught.”
William sat in his chair and steepled his hands. “Annabelle doesn’t give a farthing about what others think of her, Grey. I fought for the extra month to make sure she wanted to marry you.”
Gareth frowned. “What are you saying?”
William dropped his hands to the desk, which he then drummed the tips of his fingers against. “If you can’t convince her you want to marry her for herself, then I’ll call off the wedding.”
Gareth’s heart dropped to his stomach. “But that would completely ruin her.”
William sighed. “Do you think I’d rather her be married and miserable?”
Anger tightened Gareth’s shoulders. “Her life with me won’t be miserable.”
The corner of William’s mouth tilted upward. “Glad to hear it, but I’m not the one who needs convincing. Shut the door on the way out, won’t you. I need a few minutes before I return to the ball. Oh, and don’t forget your gloves.”
Good God, was that what this was all about? Gareth retrieved his gloves from where he’d dropped them earlier, but made no move to put them on or leave the room. It made sense…but how was he supposed to convince Belle he’d make her happy and that he didn’t want her money?
William sighed. “You do remember the way to her room, don’t you?”
Gareth smiled. “Sorry. Yes.” Tucking his gloves into his coat pocket, he exited the study without a backward glance and headed toward
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She balled up the material. “Nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all. What woman wouldn’t be overjoyed to be marrying a man who cares only for money and appearances?” She spun on her heel and with long strides headed to the door.
He stood. “Where are you going?” With a curse, he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. As the lock clicked free, he secured the placket.
She faced him and waved a hand over her rumpled attire. “Thank you very much for the attention, Your Grace. But I can’t possibly return to the ball without petticoats. I’m going to my room to right my appearance, as you suggested.” With a huff, she yanked open the door and gasped. “William.”
Her brother stood with his hand poised where the knob had been only seconds before. Behind him, Markham shot Gareth a shrug.
“Belle, what’s wrong?” William reached for his sister’s shoulder, but she stepped away.
“Nothing. I’ve just ripped my hem.” Her voice caught, and Gareth clenched his fists.
William frowned. “Nothing to cry over, my dear. I’m sure it can be fixed.”
“No, it can’t,” she wailed. “It’s ruined, just like me.” She shoved past her brother and Markham. The sound of her slippers racing down the hall reached Gareth’s ears.
William and Markham stepped into the room. William crossed to his desk. “Care to tell me what that was all about, Grey?”
Gareth ran a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. One minute—” He cleared his throat. William probably could do without the details. “—she was fine and then the next she wasn’t.”
“Well, what did you say to her, old man? I’ve found women rarely get upset without some imagined provocation.” Markham reclined against the wall beside the door.
“I didn’t say anything.” He shook his head. “Everything was fine. More than fine. And then she was accusing me of only caring about money and appearances.”
Markham straightened. “Then I think you have Digby and Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe to thank. Annabelle had the misfortune to overhear them saying you’d compromised her so you could get your hands on her money.” He opened the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have a dance coming up with Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe. I wonder if she enjoys morning rides in the park as much as her fiancé and Lady Evans seem to.”
Gareth looked at William. “Well, it seems as if all our efforts to protect her were for naught.”
William sat in his chair and steepled his hands. “Annabelle doesn’t give a farthing about what others think of her, Grey. I fought for the extra month to make sure she wanted to marry you.”
Gareth frowned. “What are you saying?”
William dropped his hands to the desk, which he then drummed the tips of his fingers against. “If you can’t convince her you want to marry her for herself, then I’ll call off the wedding.”
Gareth’s heart dropped to his stomach. “But that would completely ruin her.”
William sighed. “Do you think I’d rather her be married and miserable?”
Anger tightened Gareth’s shoulders. “Her life with me won’t be miserable.”
The corner of William’s mouth tilted upward. “Glad to hear it, but I’m not the one who needs convincing. Shut the door on the way out, won’t you. I need a few minutes before I return to the ball. Oh, and don’t forget your gloves.”
Good God, was that what this was all about? Gareth retrieved his gloves from where he’d dropped them earlier, but made no move to put them on or leave the room. It made sense…but how was he supposed to convince Belle he’d make her happy and that he didn’t want her money?
William sighed. “You do remember the way to her room, don’t you?”
Gareth smiled. “Sorry. Yes.” Tucking his gloves into his coat pocket, he exited the study without a backward glance and headed toward
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