Free Winning the Wallflower: A Novella by Eloisa James Page B

I danced with your cousin. Can you truly be that competitive—and with a family member?”
    “We are not competitive,” he stated. “We loathe each other. There’s a difference.”
    Lucy sighed. When he appeared at her side and then escorted her first behind the palms and then to the terrace, she’d thought . . . she’d thought something foolish. She straightened and took one more greedy, quick look at him.
    Then she met his eyes squarely and said, “You shouldn’t toy with people like this, Cyrus. It doesn’t reflect well on you.”
    A frown flickered through his eyes.
    “You asked me to marry you, knowing little of me, and caring nothing. So when I sent you away earlier tonight, you did not protest, or try to change my mind. But now, after your cousin has made his interest clear—which I assumed was due to my fortune, but I now see the fact that you and I were once betrothed also played a part—you return, you rub my feet, you take me to see the rain, you wax eloquent about my hair.”
    His mouth opened and she raised her hand, stopping whatever weak protest he was about to make.
    “I am a person , with feelings and emotions, not a game piece to move about a board in which you are playing against an entirely different opponent: your cousin, the Duke of Pole.”
    He was scowling now, and he didn’t look so beautiful, rather to Lucy’s satisfaction. But he did look as if he was listening to her.
    “Treat your next fiancée like a human being,” she told him, and turned to go.
    She managed only one step before he stopped her. His hand was so large that it circled her upper arm.
    “Don’t,” he said. His voice was rough and urgent, quite unlike the sleek, composed Mr. Ravensthorpe.
    “Cyrus.” Her heart was pounding, her body tense, but she kept emotion out of her voice. “I would ask you to let me go.”
    “I was hopeful I would find a bride without fuss. I didn’t think—I just thought you were sensible. Quiet. My proposal had nothing to do with my cousin.”
    “Of course it didn’t. At that point he had no more interest in me than you did. You chose your bride on the basis of lack of ‘fuss’?” She turned back, just enough so that she could see his face. “What did you mean by fuss?”
    His mouth twitched. “Overwrought emotion. Sometimes in the past, women have—”
    He stopped, a look of agonized embarrassment on his face. “I sound like a pompous ass.”
    Lucy laughed, genuinely amused. “Has it never occurred to you that you are a pompous ass?”
    “That terrible?” He sounded shocked.
    She arched an eyebrow. “You chose a plain girl from an acceptable bloodline because you thought it would be easier for you, and that she would be so grateful that you wouldn’t have to bore yourself by wooing her.” There was something a little savage in her tone, but she didn’t choke it back. “Yes, Mr. Ravensthorpe, I do think you’re a pompous ass. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    There was a moment of silence and she could hear birdsong again. She’d always thought that birds didn’t sing during the rain.
    “I never thought of you as plain,” he said painstakingly. “That was no more a factor in my proposal than was my cousin.”
    She shrugged. “It hardly matters now.”
    His hand tightened on her arm. “It does matter. I thought of you as unlikely to fall in love with me.”
    “ That is certainly true,” Lucy said, delivering her lie with tremendous aplomb. Really, she ought to go on the stage.
    “I realize now it was not a good reason to choose a bride,” he said.
    “You’ll need to woo the next lady,” she said, a bit more gently. “Be kinder and a little less pompous and I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty finding a new fiancée. You might even be able to keep her.”
    His eyes burned with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. “I just wanted to have a tranquil marriage. It seemed a reasonable desire.”
    “Someone who would adore you too much to challenge you, no