They call him the Devil Earl-a scoundrel and accused murderer who grew up on the violent London streets. A proper young lady risks more than her reputation when consorting with the roguishly handsome Hero Fiennes Tiffin , but Lady Josephine Langford...
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"Whatever happened to your hand?" Amelia asked.
"Whatever happened to your chin?" Josephine responded.
They were in the library at Amelia's residence where they'd planned to address the invitations to their ball. But Josephine was still having difficulty holding a pen, and she was no longer in the mood to discuss the plans for the ball anyway.
Amelia rubbed her chin. "I ran into a door."
"Oh, Mia, how stupid do you think I am? Where else are you hurt?"
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. "Nowhere else. He slapped me because I didn't want to perform my wifely duties."
"Slapped? More likely punched. Is that his idea of the best way to entice you into his bed?"
"Please, don't say anything more. It should be gone by the ball. And if it's not, you're the only one who won't believe I ran into a door. Everyone else thinks I'm clumsy."
Because she'd so often blamed any visible bruises on small accidents that hadn't happened. "I detest Avendale," Josephine groused.
"So you've said on more than one occasion, but he is my husband and I must honor him. Tell me about your hand."
"I cut it on a piece of glass. It was an accident."
"It appears I shall have to address all the invitations."
"I'm sorry, but yes, I think you will."
"I don't mind. It's a chore I enjoy. I daresay if I were a commoner, I might try to find employment addressing things for people."
"You've always had such lovely handwriting."
Amelia blushed. "Thank you. I like to think so."
"I would like to take one unmarked invitation and envelope for my memory book."
Josephine was bothered by how easily she lied to her trusted friend— about her bandaged hand and about her desire for an invitation. It wouldn't find its way into her memory book. With any luck, it would find its way into Hero's hand.
Hero
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