Never Fall for Your Fiancee

“The fact that it’s thriving doesn’t stop it from being dreary.” Not that Hugh actually thought it was dreary. This was his sanctuary—although from what, he couldn’t say. “As your friend, all I have done is spare you from it.” And keep it private.

“Still, you … with tenants and crops and … actually managing things responsibly…”

All too personal and potentially too revealing, when Hugh preferred to let sleeping dogs lie, so he shrugged and trotted out the answer Giles would expect. “I just sign things.”

By his perplexed expression, his canny friend was not convinced. “Then you clearly sign a lot of things, old boy, as your estate runs rings around my stodgy father’s crusty old pile in Shropshire. This place is modern.” He eyed him suspiciously. “Impressively so…” This was not a conversation he could cope with when his nerves were bouncing all over the place. Fortunately, Payne magically appeared at the door in the nick of time, saving him from explaining that he had been trained to care about those things and couldn’t seem to stop. Something his incorrigible friend would doubtless find hilarious.

“The Misses Merriwell are here, my lord. Shall I show them in?”

“Yes!” Suddenly everything was overwhelming, and this entire idea felt foolhardy in the extreme. Why had he dragged them all to Hampshire, when home always awoke the past? “Yes, of course.”

Three wide-eyed young women soon entered the drawing room, but Hugh only fixed on one. Minerva really was as lovely as he had remembered her. Today perhaps more so because she had already removed her bonnet and he got to see her hair for the first time. It was so dark it was almost black, the thick, coiled knot at the back suggesting it was very long. Bizarrely, his fingers itched to touch it. Loosened, slightly curling tendrils framed her face, highlighting the alabaster paleness of her skin and the stunning contrast of those beautiful green eyes.

Eyes that held his with a boldness he admired.

Eyes that called to him in a way none ever had before. What the blazes was that about?

Without the shapeless, chunky coat, she had a fine figure. A compact but delightfully rounded bosom, a slim yet not petite frame, and—from what he could ascertain from the way her plain skirt grazed her curves—a wonderfully long pair of legs. He liked that she was taller than average. Liked more that she was unfashionably dark haired when society favored blondes. All in all, she was nothing like any young woman he had ever seen before, yet exactly as he’d pictured his Minerva to be. Unique. One of a kind. A woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.

Or in them.

But he was staring. Openly. Perhaps even longingly.

Off-kilter, Hugh turned to his friend and saw the appreciation in Giles’s eyes and had the sudden urge to poke his fingers in them to stop him from looking at her. Which was hardly fair to Giles but panicked Hugh in the extreme. He wasn’t usually possessive. “Miss Merriwell—I am so glad you are here. Allow me to introduce my good friend Giles Sinclair, Lord Bellingham.”

“Heir to the Duke of Harpenden?” One of her sisters frowned as she said this. “I’ve read all about you in the papers. There was a story about you only last Friday, in fact.”

Obviously, that delighted Giles. “Really? Did they paint me the scoundrel?”

“A complete scoundrel.”

“How wonderful. I am a great believer in both the press and gossip and do like to do my bit to keep the masses entertained.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Minerva squirmed and shot Hugh an apologetic look. “Diana has strong opinions regarding everything and feels the need to voice them often.”

“I applaud that.” Of course Giles did. “What is the point of having an opinion if you never share it?”

This seemed to please the prickly sister immensely. “My sentiments exactly, Lord Bellingham.”

Before her outspoken sibling said anything else, the eldest Miss Merriwell interrupted, looking embarrassed. “We are delighted to make your acquaintance, aren’t we, Diana?” She glared at the younger woman, who couldn’t be too far from her in age. Whilst also very pretty and dark haired, to Hugh’s eye, Diana lacked the luster of her sister. The invisible pull that compelled him to stare.

“Miss Diana—named after the goddess of the hunt, no doubt.” Hugh bowed and turned to his friend. “Mr. Merriwell named them all after Roman deities. Isn’t that fun?” Then he turned back to her sister. “Does the name suit you as much as it does Miss Minerva?”

“I should very much hope so, Lord Fareham. For I am a warrior at heart.”

“What is your weapon of choice?” Lord Bellingham took Diana’s hand and lingered shamelessly over kissing the back of it.

She snatched it away and glared. “Cutting words and pithy setdowns, my lord. If they fail to suitably wound, whatever sharp or heavy object is closest at hand.”

“I like her.” Giles nudged him hard in the ribs. “Miss Diana, I believe we shall get on famously so long as you promise never to mince your words with me.”

“Of that you can be assured, sir.” Already Hugh could tell Diana was going to be trouble.