Read Online The Duchess War (The Brothers Sinister) by Courtney Milan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Courtney Milan
Ads: Link
utterly compelling about her. He had no idea who she was any longer. He’d thought at first that she was a high-spirited, clever woman. He’d wondered next if she were a wallflower. But at the moment, she seemed beyond any category, larger and far more complex than anyone he’d encountered thus far.
“If you want me to back down,” he said softly, “you shouldn’t be so interesting.”
Her lips compressed.
But before she could answer, a noise sounded on the other side of the room. Robert turned his head in time to see a woman—Miss Charingford, the daughter of the house, and if he recalled correctly, the friend that Miss Pursling had brought with her the other day—standing so abruptly that her seat overturned.
“Come now, Lydia,” the man who had been sitting next to her said. “You can’t really mean—”
“I do,” Miss Charingford snapped. So saying, she took a glass of punch from the table next to her. Before anyone could intervene, she dashed it into the fellow’s face. Red dripped down his nose, his chin, staining his cravat. Gasps arose around them.
“You can’t do this!” he said, standing from his chair.
The man was George Stevens. Robert had spoken with him twice now, enough to remember that he had charge over the militia. An important man, as things were judged in these parts.
“I can’t?” Miss Charingford snapped. “Just watch.”
She snatched a second glass of punch from her neighbor’s fingers and threw this one in his face as well. “You see? Apparently, I can.”
So saying, she put her nose in the air and stormed out the door.
Robert turned back to Miss Pursling.
“Is she—”
But Miss Pursling was no longer there. She was already halfway across the room. She hadn’t apologized to him or made her excuses. She had simply left, dashing after her friend. The door closed on her moments later.
He’d been amazed that her posture, the expression on her face, had remained so smooth throughout their conversation. But she had been hiding from him, too. She’d gestured him to the chair that would allow him to talk with her while she could still keep one eye on her friend. He had thought she had looked away from him to feign shyness. Instead, she’d been watching Stevens.
Everything I do contains a double threat . That had been no braggadocio, there. She’d been fending off his attempts at conversation with half her attention, lecturing him on strategy, and pretending to be a shy lump for anyone who was watching. And while she’d done that, she’d also been tracking her friend’s escalating drama from across the room.
My God. His head hurt just thinking about all the threads she must have been keeping straight in her mind.
“Your Grace.”
Robert turned from his reverie to see a man beside him. It was George Stevens, standing with a grim look on his face and a disapproving set to his jaw. He’d wiped most of the punch off, but his cravat was still stained pink, and his forehead had a sheen to it that sent Robert’s own skin itching in sticky sympathy.
“Captain Stevens,” Robert said.
“If I might intrude a moment?”
Robert glanced once again at the door through which Miss Pursling had vanished. “Of course.”
Stevens gave him a stiff bow, and then just as stiffly took the seat that Miss Pursling had so recently vacated. “It is admirable,” he said, “in every way admirable, for a man in your position to condescend to speak to everyone deserving at a gathering such as this.” He rubbed his hands together. “But…ah, how do I say this?” He lowered his voice. “Not all women are equally deserving. And Miss Pursling is not what she seems.”
“Oh?” Robert was still too taken aback to do more than take this in. “In what way does the reality of Miss Pursling differ from her appearance?”
Stevens seemed to relax at that. “I have reason to believe she is not who she claims to be.”
“Reason? What reason?”
The other man blinked, as if
“If you want me to back down,” he said softly, “you shouldn’t be so interesting.”
Her lips compressed.
But before she could answer, a noise sounded on the other side of the room. Robert turned his head in time to see a woman—Miss Charingford, the daughter of the house, and if he recalled correctly, the friend that Miss Pursling had brought with her the other day—standing so abruptly that her seat overturned.
“Come now, Lydia,” the man who had been sitting next to her said. “You can’t really mean—”
“I do,” Miss Charingford snapped. So saying, she took a glass of punch from the table next to her. Before anyone could intervene, she dashed it into the fellow’s face. Red dripped down his nose, his chin, staining his cravat. Gasps arose around them.
“You can’t do this!” he said, standing from his chair.
The man was George Stevens. Robert had spoken with him twice now, enough to remember that he had charge over the militia. An important man, as things were judged in these parts.
“I can’t?” Miss Charingford snapped. “Just watch.”
She snatched a second glass of punch from her neighbor’s fingers and threw this one in his face as well. “You see? Apparently, I can.”
So saying, she put her nose in the air and stormed out the door.
Robert turned back to Miss Pursling.
“Is she—”
But Miss Pursling was no longer there. She was already halfway across the room. She hadn’t apologized to him or made her excuses. She had simply left, dashing after her friend. The door closed on her moments later.
He’d been amazed that her posture, the expression on her face, had remained so smooth throughout their conversation. But she had been hiding from him, too. She’d gestured him to the chair that would allow him to talk with her while she could still keep one eye on her friend. He had thought she had looked away from him to feign shyness. Instead, she’d been watching Stevens.
Everything I do contains a double threat . That had been no braggadocio, there. She’d been fending off his attempts at conversation with half her attention, lecturing him on strategy, and pretending to be a shy lump for anyone who was watching. And while she’d done that, she’d also been tracking her friend’s escalating drama from across the room.
My God. His head hurt just thinking about all the threads she must have been keeping straight in her mind.
“Your Grace.”
Robert turned from his reverie to see a man beside him. It was George Stevens, standing with a grim look on his face and a disapproving set to his jaw. He’d wiped most of the punch off, but his cravat was still stained pink, and his forehead had a sheen to it that sent Robert’s own skin itching in sticky sympathy.
“Captain Stevens,” Robert said.
“If I might intrude a moment?”
Robert glanced once again at the door through which Miss Pursling had vanished. “Of course.”
Stevens gave him a stiff bow, and then just as stiffly took the seat that Miss Pursling had so recently vacated. “It is admirable,” he said, “in every way admirable, for a man in your position to condescend to speak to everyone deserving at a gathering such as this.” He rubbed his hands together. “But…ah, how do I say this?” He lowered his voice. “Not all women are equally deserving. And Miss Pursling is not what she seems.”
“Oh?” Robert was still too taken aback to do more than take this in. “In what way does the reality of Miss Pursling differ from her appearance?”
Stevens seemed to relax at that. “I have reason to believe she is not who she claims to be.”
“Reason? What reason?”
The other man blinked, as if
Similar Books
