Hawk & the Lady - Elizabeth Stevens Page 0,1

it. But there was no way dark blue, high-waisted, three-quarter jeans, white boots, and a red cropped knit jumper were appropriate attire for a brunch with guests. Particularly when said guests were more adequately described as ‘suitors’. Priscilla Carmichael didn’t believe denim was an appropriate choice for anything, let alone ‘courting’.

These surprise suitor brunches were becoming a startling regularity with my mother. And by regular, I meant that this made three times in about six months. But considering it had been maybe once a year before that, I was getting concerned and fed up. Concerned that my mother had some arbitrary deadline for my ‘perfect’ marriage I was as yet unaware of. And fed up that I was being served up on a silver platter for the likes of her society friends’ wanky sons.

I was in no way ready to get married and I had zero interest in a trust fund kid – completely ignoring the fact I was such a kid. I just wanted to go out to the club with my girlfriends and continue making horrible life choices I often berated myself for. Namely getting improperly wasted and going home with a man covered in tattoos who’d never call me. I’d left a string of them in my wake and never learned my lesson. I had, however, grown out of letting myself believe a relationship was possible with any of them.

Baby steps.

Life was a series of baby steps and I was at least going – mostly – in the right direction. Like now, for example. My next baby step was getting through a brunch I’d been trained my whole life for. Too bad experience had shown I was more like one of those dog show dogs who do really well in the lead up then get overly excited on the day and end up humping the judges’ legs.

Minus any humping of proverbial legs.

I was fairly certain I could avoid humping whoever it was Mother had invited to what I should have known wasn’t just a family brunch.

“Who is it?” I asked Anna as she started dragging me towards the conservatory.

But she didn’t answer, just turned one of those sisterly ‘you’re going to hate this and I’m going to love you hating this’ grins in my direction.

“Anna…” My tone was intended to be warning, but it was much closer to panic.

A reaction like that from her meant it could only be a handful of people. We were good acquaintances with almost all the society brats – fond term, included ourselves – in our generation, and knew them all by sight. Unless Mother had resorted to flying them in from interstate or overseas, I’d at least know them.

Hopefully.

“She’s here,” Anna said as we walked into the conservatory.

“Leah…” Mother said disapprovingly. “You’re finally here.”

Was that not what Anna had just implied?

“Hi,” I said with my best attempt at a smile. “Yes, here I am.”

The man with her stood up like the well-trained gentleman he was, and I could safely say there was no risk of humping occurring. I’d think about it. Extensively. Vividly. In graphic detail. But I’d never follow through with it.

Mother threw a judgemental look at my wayward mop of curls, but said nothing about it. “You remember Edward,” was all she said.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a rhetorical question. It was a demand. I would remember Edward if it killed me.

I forced a genteel smile and nodded. “Of course. Edward. Nice to see you again.”

Because how could I forget the man Priscilla was obviously still decided would be my future husband?

Objectively, I couldn’t argue the match. When you’d been brought up the way I had, you saw the benefit in what my mother called a smart match. Smart matches came in a few varieties but amounted to the same basic traits; wealthy, attractive, great PR team, and business smart. Business smart being code for ruthless in the boardroom, a pro on the golf course or tennis court, and a heavy drinker (and spender) in the club. Bonus points if you thought loyalty to your spouse was optional.

Subjectively, I had as many reasons to refuse the match as I had to objectively agree with it.

Oh, Edward Barnes was pleasant enough to look at. He even held up decent conversation and seemed to encourage my uncouth lack of etiquette with a mildly tantalising, lustful burn of desire in the depths of his dark green eyes. He was always groomed impeccably, smelling of something that made me think of