LADY MEREDITH BRIGHT STARED at the passing scenery as the county of Sussex passed by in a slow blur. Her two sisters shared the carriage, yet unlike normal carriage rides, this one was silent.
In a few short hours, they would be entering the devil’s lair. One would think the devil would be horrifically deformed and frightening. But that was entirely untrue. The devil had jet-black hair, brown eyes, just a shade lighter than coal, and olive skin that was highlighted by white teeth and full lips. When the Bible said that Satan was a fallen angel, it was no joke. Because the Earl of Ashbury was as beautiful as a fallen angel and just as sinful. And his evil minions — his brothers — were every bit as dark and dangerous.
But they weren’t entering the devil’s lair unarmed. Rather, they had schemed, planned, and plotted for two weeks — ever since they found out they were attending a week-long house party at the Wingham estate.
While normal ladies would arm themselves with fans and flirtatious grins, they brought the tools of war. Meredith had chosen pins — for locking and unlocking doors, and perhaps some subtle poking. Louisa had brought along ink — for missives and for depositing small amounts in teacups. And young Sara had contributed stockings — for escaping out windows if need be and all else failed. It might sound odd for ladies of quality to even ponder such things, but history had proven the ultimate necessity of such preparedness.
It had been three short and lovely years since Meredith had faced the obligation of being in the company of the frog brothers. She and her sisters had aptly named them that at the beginning of their long-suffering acquaintance at the wise age of seven. The name had stuck, and, so far, had proven the tamest of the names uttered when describing them. However, the three-year respite of peace and joy had now come to a crashing end as the carriage grew closer and closer to the Wingham estate. And with each clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, Meredith grew tenser. She figured they would not have to see the frogs till the evening welcoming ball, which would give her and her sister’s time to prepare their chambers for any… intruders. Part of her hoped that the war would be far more civil since they were all older, yet she didn’t put all her eggs in that rotting basket.
Another minute passed, then two. Too soon she’d be face to face with the devil. And in the very center of her own personal hell.
“HAVE THEY ARRIVED YET?” The Duchess of Ashbury asked as she waltzed into the library, the soft fragrance of rose water following her.
“If you mean the hags, then no.” Lucas, the Earl of Ashbury answered, then lowered his tone.” And I hope their carriage rolls off a cliff.”
“I heard that.” His mother shot him a cold glare.
He smiled back, winking.
“It’s not a wonder those lovely girls dislike you so.” She shook her head, scolding her son.
“It’s a wonder those girls haven’t turned to ashes when exposed to the sunlight,” Jack, his youngest brother mumbled just beside him.
“I heard that too. And I do not approve of your reading material.”
“Expanding my mind, Mother.” Jack strode up to her and placed a kiss to her cheek. Then promptly quit the room.
Probably running and taking cover. Smart man. Lucas nodded sagely to himself.
“Honestly, I don’t understand why you are still acting like children. You haven’t seen the Bright sisters in near three years.” His mother smoothed her skirt and blinked up at him, as if waiting a response.
“Three glorious years,” Lucas couldn’t help but add.
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
“They did set your parlor on fire.”
“Water under the bridge.” She waved off the comment like a pesky fly.
“You are entirely too forgiving.” Lucas raised an eyebrow.
She gave him an impatient glare. “I know my sons. And I highly doubt that the incident wasn’t somehow related to a fault of yours.”
“Mine?” Lucas placed a hand to his chest, offering his most wounded expression, while trying to keep a straight face, of course.
“Hmm,” The duchess sighed heavily. “You are a terrible liar.”
“Only because I’m such an upstanding man of integrity.”
“I take that back, you are, indeed, a proficient liar.” His mother gave him a sweet smile.
“I’m offended.”
“You’re nothing of the sort. But you will be on your best behavior, and I’ll not tolerate anything less than the most genteel manners when in the presence of our guests.” His mother narrowed her blue eyes, her gaze sharp and immovable. Even at the age of one and thirty, Lucas felt the urge to squirm under her fixated glare.
“Of course,” he lied smoothly.
Rather than respond, his mother raised an eyebrow and walked toward the library’s exit. “I’m warning you.”