The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)(3)

“It belonged to Lady Anne, the Countess of Stanhope.”

Imogen blinked several times. “What?” she blurted. The young lady, courted by the powerful Duke of Crawford, then betrothed to her cousin, had quite scandalized the ton when she’d abruptly ended her engagement and wed the roguish Earl of Stanhope. In fact, it had been the last scandal to shock the ton…until Imogen. “How?” She couldn’t string together a coherent thought. The faint stirrings of unease rolled through her. Oh, dear she didn’t care to know the extent her friend had gone to obtain the piece.

“Lady Anne is married to Alex’s closest friend, Lord Stanhope. It was nothing to speak to the woman.”

Oh, please let the floor open up and swallow me whole. “You didn’t.” She dropped her head into her hands and shook it back and forth.

“I did.” Chloe nodded excitedly. “You see,” she spoke in such hushed tones it brought Imogen’s head up. “The necklace,” she nodded to it, “is the same one worn by her sisters and a handful of their friends. It is fabled to land the wearer the heart of a duke and as you’ve already had a duke, you’d instead want one of those noblemen, but this time, his heart as—”

Oh, please, no. “You did not speak to her.” Shame curled her toes.

Chloe paused, mouth opened, thought unfinished, only confirming Imogen’s suspicions. “She was entirely gracious.” Imogen winced. “And understanding.” She flinched again. “And more than happy to gift you the heart pendant.” Chloe wrinkled her brow. “Or rather, give me the pendant to pass along to you.” An uncharacteristically somber light filled her dearest friend’s eyes. “I just want you to be happy once more.”

So much so that she’d unknowingly humiliate Imogen before a stranger. She sighed not knowing if she should laugh or cry.

Chloe claimed her hands and gave them a squeeze. “You will find the gentleman who is your true love. I promise.” Through the years, Chloe had been the more practical, logical of them when it came to matters of the heart, swearing off that emotion for herself while allowing, even supporting, Imogen in that dream.

She hardly recognized this young woman who spoke of magic and pendants and dreams of love. With a sound of impatience, she shoved to her feet, her fist tightened reflexively about the chain. “This is about more than love.” Imogen began to pace. Chloe had never been accused of being a hopeless romantic. Unlike Imogen—or rather, she had been, until life happened and showed her the folly in giving her heart to another. She increased her frantic movements. “It is about being respected, inspiring devotion and dedication in another.” Feats she’d failed miserably where the Duke of Montrose was concerned.

Her friend hopped up and placed herself in Imogen’s path. And then she said the only two words Imogen had longed to hear since the whole public shaming heaped on her by her disloyal sister and fickle betrothed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. That was it. She just wanted someone to not make excuses or worry after the scandal and how Society looked on it. She wanted someone to care about her and that she’d been hurt.

Imogen mustered a smile. “He did have fetid breath.”

A sharp bark of unexpected laughter bubbled past her friend’s lips. “And he was entirely too tall.” She shuddered. “We shan’t find you a tall gentleman like him.”

“And handsome,” Imogen supplied, feeling vastly better for her friend’s devoted teasing. “He was too handsome.” Which is why her grasping, self-centered sister had first noticed him. The familiar stirring of fury turned in her belly. And she embraced it, far preferring it to the kicked and wounded pup she’d been since the unhappy occasion. Determined to set aside the still fresh betrayal, Imogen threw herself back into her friend’s game. “He drinks too much brandy.” His breath had stunk of it whenever he was near. “I shan’t ever wed a gentleman who touches even one glass of liquor.”

“Splendid.” Chloe gave a pleased nod. “You are quite grasping the spirit of this.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve heard from my brother that His Grace has a wicked penchant for the gaming tables.”

She’d little doubt just which brother Chloe spoke of. Not the respectable Marquess of Waverly but rather, Lord Alex Edgerton, known rogue, skirt-chaser, reprobate, brandy drinker. Another gentleman all ladies would be best served to avoid.

Chloe clapped her hands once, jerking Imogen’s attention back to her. “You’re woeful again.” A stern frown turned her lips down in the corners. “You must focus on how horrid and horrible and all things awful he is.”

“Er. Yes, right.” Except she’d run out of insulting charges to level on his miserable head. She stopped pacing so quickly her satin skirts fluttered about her ankles. Though in truth, as hurt and humiliated as she was by his betrayal, she truly was better knowing the man’s true character before she’d gone and wed him.

“I have an idea,” her friend put in tentatively, which was all show. There was nothing tentative about Lady Chloe Edgerton.

“Oh?” she asked dryly. Too many troublesome scrapes at Mrs. Belton’s Finishing School had begun with those four words.

Chloe beamed with Imogen’s interest. “Now that you have this necklace,” she gestured to the chain in Imogen’s hand, “you shall find a gentleman. And make him fall hopelessly and helplessly in love with you and His Grace will be outrageously, wickedly jealous.”