Page 16 of Marrying Bluebeard

He looks older than he is, the lines between his brows deepened from constant frowning. This past year has been hard on all of us, but most of all on him. He’s kept us afloat through scandal, cut anyone who dared mutter a word against either me or my siblings. He’s tried to be a good brother, even if I don’t always love his methods.

I sigh. “Yes.”

His expression softens. “And you will consider Lord Harrison’s proposal?”

“He hasn’t made one.”

“But if he does,” Julien presses, and I narrow my eyes. He knows something.

“Then I’ll consider it,” I say slowly. “Along with any other proposals that come my way.”

Julien’s face tightens. “Do you have a reason to suspect there will be more?” His eye twitches, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he sorts through the possibilities.

I think of a certain blue-bearded gentleman with an annoying ability to make my heart flutter. I doubt he’d have come to this party if he wasn’t looking for a wife, but he’s doted far more time and attention on Miss Dellum than on me. And yet…

I shrug.

Julien’s jaw clenches. “Other prospects are fine, of course, with one exception. I will not, under any circumstances, accept Monsieur de Montragoux. He is scandal incarnate. That beard⁠—”

“Is a side effect of a tonic he takes to stay alive,” I interrupt. “You can hardly fault him for wanting to live.”

“Bullshit. What kind of tonic would cause a man’s beard to change color?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t think that’s any of our business. I only brought it up since you felt the need to use his appearance as a slight against him.”

“So you are considering that man?” Julien growls.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re defending him.”

“As I would anyone in his situation.” I shoot to my feet and march to the door. “I will listen to Lord Harrison’s proposal should he make one, but that is the only promise you’ll have. Now, if you’re quite done lecturing me, I’d rather not catch cold and miss the rest of the party by remaining in these wet clothes.” I swing the door open, turning my nose up as Julien skulks past.

I’ve never been as irritated with my brother as I am now, and in all honesty, he doesn’t completely deserve the icy dismissal. But I can’t help it. The moment he said Bertrand was off-limits, something inside me roared in denial. Emotions I’ve never felt before are welling up inside me, stirring my thoughts into a jumbled mess. And while I don’t entirely understand why, I know with a sudden certainty⁠—

I won’t be satisfied with anyone else.

12

ADELAIDE

Ican’t stop looking at him. When I swipe my brush over the canvas set up in front of me, it’s blue that stains the surface. Never mind that I’m painting red roses.

Marguerite arches a brow as she studies my work. “Interesting color choice.”

“It’s a metaphor,” I lie. “Roses are the flowers most often tossed upon a coffin. They’re sad, mournful blooms at heart. The blue reflects that.”

Marguerite smirks. “And what do your continued glances toward a certain gentleman reflect, I wonder?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Marguerite hums as she swirls her brush through pink paint. “Liar. You’ve been watching him all afternoon. And what’s more, he’s been watching you. Something happened, didn’t it? Was it during hide-and-seek?” She leans closer, covering her mouth with her hand. “Did he kiss you?”

My cheeks heat as I recall the way I rubbed myself against his leg, the insistent ache that had throbbed between my thighs. “Of course not.”

Marguerite looks unconvinced. “Well, whatever you’re doing or not doing with the gentleman, just make sure you aren’t caught. Julien would have a fit.”

I peek over the top of my canvas to where our eldest brother is currently sharing a drink with Lord Hefner in the gazebo. They’ve been there ever since Aunt Charlotte announced we’d be painting in the garden this afternoon. While everyone else is exploring their artistic sides, Julien is exploring Lord Hefner’s knowledge of current events and the effect they might have on his bank account. “Our dear brother,” I purr in a saccharine voice, “can kiss my lily white ass.”