For a heartbeat, Brand simply stared. Then he scoffed, incredulous and reeling from building anger.
Lady Wilmot had gone about promising him in marriage to a stranger? Did she think she could coerce him with such tactics? Delusional was too mild a thought to encompass it.
He did not care for marriage!
He had made that abundantly clear, and that she should dare to promise was an overreach so profound it bordered on insult. Somehow he was surprised, and quite disappointed at his surprise.
His left eye would not cease twitching.
"If you would not have me, sir," she said quietly, "pray revoke the promise. It has lingered over me for years—long before I was even presented to society."
Her plea struck a cord. She was weary. And when she coyishly curtsied and withdrew, he realised she had not been trying to tempt him, it was her mannerism.
But that was far from his concern.
He remained where he stood, the wineglass forgotten in his hands.
Whitmore House.
