The Best of Both Rogues (Rival Rogues #3)
by Samantha Grace
The worst thing Mr. Benjamin Hillary ever did was abandon his bride-to-be on their wedding day.
The hardest thing he will ever have to do is watch her marry another man.
After two long years abroad, Ben finds Eve every bit as captivating as she was the first time he saw her, and he vows to set things right.
Lady Eve Thorne has a new man in her life, and Ben is nothing but trouble. She is no longer a starry-eyed young woman, and now that he’s back, he can go hang for all she cares. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself…
Viscount Margrave scowls at Ben: No one said this was an interview. I like to keep my private affairs private.
Ben: No one cares about your secrets, Margrave.
Viscount Margrave’s gaze narrows: Who said I have any?
Lana delicately clears her throat: Pardon the interruption, but could we begin?
Ben inclines his head, granting permission.
Lana: What is the first thing you think about when you wake in the morning?
Viscount Margrave: Who wants to know?
Lana huffs her frustration then leans forward to speak quietly to Ben: Is he going to be difficult the entire time?
Ben: Possibly. He has been acting strangely ever since I returned to England. Perhaps you should direct the questions to me only.
Lana: Agreed. Should I repeat the last question?
Ben: No, I remember.
Lana sits up and waves for him to continue.
Ben: For the last two years, Eve is the first person I think about in the morning and the last I think about at night. I’ve wondered what might have happened if I hadn’t run away to India. Perhaps we would have a child already with another on the way. Maybe a girl with Eve’s dark hair and freckles, or a son who resembles me.
Viscount Margrave: Just as long as your issue doesn’t inherit your chin.
Ben: What’s wrong with my chin?
Lana: There is nothing wrong with your chin. Stop stirring up trouble, Lord Margrave.
Viscount Margrave grins: It’s too pert and stubborn.
Ben: It sounds as if it should have its own name.
Viscount Margrave: How do you feel about Judith?
Lana shakes her head: Lud. If you didn’t want to talk about children, you could have just said so.
Viscount Margrave: I don’t want to talk about children.
Lana: That is surprising, considering you still act like one.
Viscount Margrave: Aging is unavoidable, but growing up is a choice.
Lana: And what about maturity? Do you have a saying for that as well?
Viscount Margrave: Ma-tur-i-ty. Never heard of it.
Lana to Ben: Why are you friends with him?
Ben shrugs: He followed me home one day and mother said I could keep him.
Reaching a secluded corner near a dark alcove, he paused to check once more for his quarry before he sought out the card room.
“What are you doing here?” a voice hissed. “You are not on the guest list.”
“Pardon?” Ben spun toward the speaker and came up short. His eyebrows veered toward each other. “How do you know?” he whispered back to the mass of green palm fronds.
“Because I helped make the list.” The plant’s fronds parted, and Eve Thorne’s stern glare greeted him. What the devil was she doing?
Her frown deepened when he simply stared, at a loss for words. “Do you have a death wish, Mr. Hillary?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Let me guess, you’ve been attacked by a man-eating plant. Are you in need of rescue, Kitten?”
She growled softly and the fronds snapped back into place. Ben checked the surrounding area to be certain they hadn’t earned any unwanted attention, then peered around the massive greenery. Eve was wedged against the wall, her yellow chiffon skirts crushed against the large pot. Her chest rose and fell in rapid movements, drawing his attention to the modest swell of her breasts peeking above her lacy neckline. A rosy glow infused her ivory skin, making the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks almost unnoticeable.
God, he had missed her – her freckles, her pouty lips, her soulful brown eyes. He had been smitten from the moment he had spied her at the theater during the little Season, and two years on a faraway continent had done nothing to cool his ardor.
“What are you doing back there, Miss Thorne, and shouldn’t you have a chaperone?”
She crossed her arms as if erecting a wall between them. “God only knows why, but I am trying to save your skin, Benjamin James Arran Hillary.”
Damnation. He had almost forgotten he’d been burdened with so many names, and that she had a habit of invoking every one when she was perturbed. His smile expanded. Despite her pretense of indifference, she was worried for him. “Am I to conclude your skulking about means you still care?”
“I care about Lady Eldridge, and I do not want to see her ball ruined by you and Sebastian coming to fisticuffs. You really must leave before he sees you and demands another meeting on the field.”
Crossing paths with Sebastian Thorne didn’t concern Ben. Her brother’s need to defend her reputation after Ben jilted her had been satisfied three weeks earlier in a duel, and Thorne would not issue a second challenge for fear of losing. Ben suspected neither of them wanted to risk looking like fools again either. Instead of dueling with pistols or swords as any other normal men would do, they had allowed Eve to choose the weapons. She had chosen gloves.
He scowled. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous it looked for two men to engage in a slapping match?” The gents at Brooks’s hadn’t stopped talking about the duel for days, and Ben had endured the brunt of the teasing since he’d followed his youngest brother’s advice and allowed Thorne to win.
Eve’s smile radiated with self-satisfaction. “Since no one died, I would say I made an excellent choice.”
He grudgingly admitted her cleverness had managed to resolve the conflict without bloodshed – or much, anyway. Ben had walked away with a cut on his cheek and a nasty bruise, thanks to her brother filling his glove with pebbles. But bruised pride and a bruised mug were small prices to pay to see Eve’s position in Society restored.
Connect with Samantha Grace