The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)(4)

“That is your plan?” She’d long adored her friend for her cleverness, however, this was an ill-thought out idea on the lady’s part. What was the use in making William jealous? “That will not change anything where Montrose is concerned.”

Her friend plucked the necklace from her fingers. “Nor should you want to change anything, silly,” Chloe murmured. “Here, turn around.” Before Imogen could protest, Chloe spun her about. She settled the chain about her neck and fiddled with the clasp. A soft click filled the quiet. “There,” she said, turning Imogen around once more. “I’ll have you know,” she gave a toss of her blonde curls, “that was not my plan.” A slow, mischievous grin turned her lips. “You rejoining Society was…is,” she amended, “my plan.”

Imogen had retreated from ton events after The Scandal, as Society had taken to referring to it. Those drawn out syllables the ton used to set it apart from other scandals. Imogen sighed. “I’ve little interest in entering Society.” Alas, now that Rosalind had wed her duke, Mother’s wedding plans were at an end, and she’d turned her sights once more upon Imogen. “I intend to wait until the scandal isn’t so—”

Her friend’s snort cut across the remainder of those hopeful words. “Oh, Imogen,” she said gently, taking her hands once more. “This scandal shall remain until some other foul lord goes and does something outrageous that captures their notice. I shan’t allow you to bury your head in shame. Not when you haven’t done anything wrong.” Fire snapped in her blue eyes. “Is that clear?” She opened her mouth to respond but Chloe gave a pleased nod. “We shall fill your days! There will be shopping trips and we’ll take in the theatre, and various balls…”

As her friend prattled on, Imogen groaned. All those options were about as appealing as being tasked with plucking out each strand of hair on her head, but most particularly any visits to Drury Lane. “Not the theatre.” There she would be on public display like one of those Captain Cook exhibits at the Egyptian Hall. She was brave. She was not that brave.

“You’ll have me,” her friend said, accurately interpreting her concerns. “The sooner you make your appearance and show the ton you’ll not be cowed or shamed by them and miserable Montrose then the sooner they shall move on to some other poor creature.”

Imogen shot her a look.

Chloe had the good grace to blush. “Er…not that you’re a poor creature.”

She tapped a finger to her lips. Insult aside, if she was being honest, it really wasn’t an altogether awful plan. In fact, it was quite a brilliant one.

As though sensing victory was close, Chloe added, “Furthermore you’ll be spared your mother’s matchmaking for the Season.”

Yes, Mother had begun to speak of the Marquess of Waverly with an increasing frequency. After all, by Mother’s thinking, if one couldn’t have a duke, she may as well aspire to a marquess. “Very well, I shall go.” After all, the alternative would be to flit from one event to the next with her married sister and her beaming mother and the faithless Duke of Montrose for company.

“Splendid!” Chloe said, with a clap of her hands. “My brother will accompany us. No one will dare slight you with the fierce Marquess of Waverly at our side.”

Envy tugged at Imogen. Through the years, her own sister had been at best rude and condescending, and at worst, deliberately cruel, mocking the flame-red curls Imogen had been cursed with. She would have traded her left index finger to know the loving friendship Chloe had with her siblings.

With an energized stride, her friend started for the door. She paused at the threshold and spun back once more to face Imogen. “Prepare yourself, Imogen Moore. You are going to take Society by storm.”

Not again.





Chapter 2

The Marquess of Waverly steepled his fingers together then folded them under his chin.

Lord Alex Edgerton, second son, spare to the heir, kicked his legs out and propped them on the edge of his brother, the current marquess’ desk. “You summoned me?” He yawned and with his gaze sought the time from the long-case clock. Ungodly hour for a man to be awake.

Gabriel frowned and leaned forward in his chair. “I summoned you a week ago.”

Had it been a week? He’d thought the missive arrived at his club two days past, but certainly not a week. Regardless… “I’ve been quite busy.” He’d had a rotten run at the faro tables but some delicious company at Forbidden Pleasures.

“Busy?” His brother repeated in that incredulous, more than a little condescending, tone. “What? At your whist tables?”

Alex bristled. “Hardly.” Everyone knew he far preferred faro to whist. How disappointing that his brother, who knew everything, should fail to know this important detail about him.

“Then what?”

He blinked.

His brother lowered his voice in that reproachful, father-like manner of his. “Are you in such a liquor-induced stupor that you require my clarification?” Oh bloody hell. His brother was in a foul temper. “Very well,” Gabriel continued, no prodding required from Alex. “Have you been too busy gaming and whoring and drinking to respond to a missive?”

“A summons.”

His stodgy brother cocked his head.