Mirabelle straightened. “You know we’re leaving today.”
“So?”
“So,” she said crossing to her brother, “I’m going to need you to check on Abby.”
He made a choking sound in the back of his throat. “Check on her? Why?”
“Because.” Mirabelle lifted her hands. “She doesn’t have anyone else.”
“Mira,” Rush started, his hands fisting at his sides, “I’m now running the club for the family. I don’t have time to babysit girls who are not my family.”
She clucked her tongue. “Imagine if that were me and Anna? And we had no one else?”
“That would never be you and Anna. You’ve got too many brothers for that.”
“Precisely. Which is why she needs our help.”
He let out a loud breath of exasperation. “And how do I do that? He’s her guardian.”
Mirabelle looked at her brother, sensing the tension under the surface. Interesting. He was more flustered than she’d ever seen him as he shifted in front of her. “Please, Rush. Consider it a wedding present. Check on her a few times. For me?”
Rush let out another deep exhale as his jaw hardened. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile, closing the distance between them to give her brother a hug. “Now…” She linked her arm through his. “Why don’t you take me to my groom? I’m eager to be married.”
“Good for you,” Rush muttered as he held out his bent elbow to her. “Though I can’t imagine why. Marriage…”
She smiled as her brother led her out of the room. He’d understand someday, she was certain of it. It just took the right person to make the path completely clear.
A ROMP WITH A ROGUE
BY TAMMY ANDRESEN
Miss Abigail Wentworth sat as still as still could be as she waited for the tirade to end. She cocked her head thoughtfully to the side, clasping her hands together in her lap as her cousin went on and on…
What was Clarence on about again?
She tried to remember the thread, hoping her eyes hadn’t glazed in that way that would alert him she wasn’t listening. He didn’t like it when she stopped listening.
The story had been long and dull, not that one could tell from his level of agitation.
Quietly, she remembered the thread of his words. The tale about a man who had slighted him at his club that afternoon.
Now that she thought on it, she distinctly remembered a few lines. They played back in her mind as she continued her pretense of listening, glancing about the second-floor drawing room. The room was unchanged from her childhood, with soft pink silk curtains, crème pillows, highly polished wood. But everything felt different now. Cast in a darker light.
“And then he’d informed me that I was not welcome at his table. Can you believe that?”
Yes. Yes, she could.
But she shook her head sympathetically, casting her features in a show of solace.
“I’m the new baron,” he’d railed. “How dare he say such a thing to me.” His hand flew up in the air as she forced herself to focus.
The first time Clarence had gone on such a tirade, she’d been frightened out of her wits. He grew so animated, his face growing purple, his arms waving wildly. And when she’d asked a probing question about what he’d done to provoke such negative behavior from another,
wham.
The back of his hand had come down across her cheek so hard and so fast, stars had exploded behind her eyes. Even now, her fingers came up to stroke the skin along her cheekbone that had been bruised for weeks.