Page 11 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

Harrington’s jaw clenched. Damnation. Had his friend read his indecent thoughts?

“’Tis bloody Greyson,” Harrington mumbled under his breath.

Since even the kind-hearted Wellspring cringed, Evan looked over his shoulder to see what had caused their disquiet.

Hell, no.

Two Greysons trudged toward them. Evan scrubbed at his eyes and looked again. Hell’s bells, Charles Taylor and Greyson looked alike. As did Elizabeth and Katrina. However, the women were cousins. Taylor and Greyson had no ties other than Taylor was the marquess’s solicitor. Mayhap Evan simply needed to rest his eyes.

A grating scraping drowned out the surf and gulls as their boots crunched and their walking sticks dug into the pebbles.

“Good day,” Greyson said.

Although cordial, the round of salutations was hardly enthusiastic.

Greyson waved to the woman, who half-heartedly waved back. “Who is the chap?” He inclined his chin toward the butler.

“My wife’s dear friend."

Evan recognized Harrington’s scowl. It was the one that warned,Go ahead, you bloody fool. Open your mouth and say something smart-arse so I can relieve you of your teeth.

“Ah.” Greyson wriggled his nose as if inhaling dung. Quite stupid considering Harrington’s clenched fist. “Harrington, I’d like to speak with you in private.”

“Probably preferable to discuss whatever the matter is in front of our audience,” Harrington said.

Or at least safer for Greyson because it might keep Harrington from throttling him.

Greyson pursed his lips. “Fine,” he said in his affected nasally voice. “I’d like permission to court your sister and since the duke is not present, I thought I’d ask you. Perchance your Aunt Justine could act as our chaperone, and we could promenade at the pier tomorrow afternoon?”

What a foolish request. Ethan Harrington would surely bloody Greyson’s nose, and the Duke of Astleyshire would slice him into a million pieces.

Harrington flashed him a hand, then pointed at Wellspring. “I have already given permission for the earl to court her.”

Greyson lifted his walking stick and waved it about. “But I am a marquess.”

He was also a swag-bellied swine.

Taylor exhaled. “Mayhap the lady would like to choose.”

“How unorthodox,” Greyson said. But then his chest puffed with foolish pride. “Yes. Let the lady choose her suitor.”

Harrington snorted. “Greyson, my sister would rather have spikes shoved under her fingernails than court you.”

Greyson’s nostrils flared. “I assure you; she is quite interested in me. Why not ask her?”

The anxiety Evan had recently rid himself of returned with a vengeance. As much as he disliked Katrina, she could not court Greyson. The man was a maggot pie. Wellspring was the best sort of chap, but if she courted him, Evan could never again take her in his arms and kiss her. And why did that thought stab him in the heart? There were a million other women he could kiss who were more agreeable.

“Fine. Make an arse of yourself.” Harrington beckoned his sister with curling fingers. “Katrina,” he called.

She took forever to stand and approach, her wrinkled nose indicating she did not hold the marquess in high regard. In fact, she seemed to be bestowing more glunches at Greyson than she tossed at Evan. Still, the marquess’s smirk remained cocksure.

“Katrina, I would like you to accompany me to the pier tomorrow afternoon,” Greyson said.

The girl’s eyes widened, and her face flushed. “I cannot. Lord Wellspring is painting my portrait tomorrow afternoon.”

Greyson’s gaze traveled from Wellspring to Evan to Katrina, and he snorted. “Then you shall accompany me to dinner two evenings hence.”

What a frigging rat the man was.