Free Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon by Catherine Gayle Page B

bravado
than she actually felt, Emma passed her gaze along the length of
the table, pausing for a moment on each eye that dared to meet
hers. When she paused upon Mr. Cardiff, she nearly stopped at that
very moment and ran from the dining room, so censorious and
disapproving was his expression. But finally, she moved her gaze on
to the others. “She deserves the same basic courtesies we all do.
She does not deserve to have anyone speak ill of her, for any reason
whatsoever.”
    The clatter of silver dropping back
against the table was the only sound in the room, aside from a few
scandalized breaths or gasps of shock.
    Faintly, Emma felt the back of Lord
Jacob’s hand grazing against her knuckles in warning again, but she
ignored them, despite the impetuousness of her actions. He was
trying to warn her against making a fool of herself, but it was far
too late for that. Or perhaps he was warning her against raising
Lord Roxburghe’s ire. Roxburghe was a peer, after all. Not the sort
of man one ought to go about trying to put in his
place—particularly not if one was the mere daughter of a
knight.
    But she couldn’t stop herself if she
tried. Now that she had a full head of steam built up, she had to
let it release. If she didn’t, she might very well stamp her foot
and cry, or dump a tureen of soup over Roxburghe’s head, or
something else equally horrifying. She didn’t do any of those
things, however, because she heard a sniffle coming from the other
end of the table.
    That sniffle could only have come from
Morgan.
    Vanessa rose and placed a placating
smile upon her lips, clearly trying to stop Emma before she’d gone
too far. “Ladies, why don’t we all excuse ourselves—?”
    Blast it all, Vanessa ought to have
tried sooner. She knew how Emma could be when she lost her temper,
far better than anyone else in the world. Vanessa shouldn’t have
let her go as far as she did.
    Emma spoke more loudly than she had
been, making certain everyone heard her over her sister’s voice. “I
will not excuse anyone until Lord Roxburghe has apologized to Lady
Morgan for being a vile excuse for a gentleman.”

    With a fierceness in her brown eyes he
never imagined she possessed, Miss Hathaway straightened her
shoulders, tossed back her head, crossed her arms over her chest,
and looked as regal and certain of herself as the queen. “We shall
also wait for Lady Portia to apologize to Lady Morgan. I’m prepared
to wait as long as is necessary.”
    Aidan could do nothing but gape at
her. He had never felt more conflicted in his life.
    On the one hand, he wanted to stand up
and applaud Miss Hathaway for daring to take such a
stand—particularly one in favor of his sister. Yet she was still
the woman he loathed more than anything or anyone else in this
world, the one whom he had cursed for nearly three years, the one
he’d so often depicted in the throes of his revenge whilst using
his pastels.
    He preferred to use vellum with his
pastels any time he was creating his vengeance. It left the images
crisper. Clearer. More exact. There was nothing left to the
imagination when he used pastels on vellum.
    And right this moment, he wished he
had an easel and some vellum, not to mention his pastels. He wanted
to capture her as she looked just at this moment. She was like an
avenging angel, come to teach the mere mortals such as himself a
lesson they clearly hadn’t learned in the rest of their lives.
Never in his life had he seen such fire coming from what he’d once
thought to be dull, brown eyes.
    Here, amidst a room filled with lords
and ladies, men and women with enough power and social standing and
narcissism they could crush her in an instant—more permanently and
readily than Aidan could ever do in real life or on canvas—here,
Miss Hathaway laid aside all thought of self-preservation and
thought only of protecting Morgan.
    And he couldn’t catch his
breath.
    He hadn’t heard what Lord Roxburghe or
Lady Portia had said about