Thomas refused to acknowledge his body’s reaction to Miss Hamilton. Any healthy gentleman would experience the same when looking at an exceedingly beautiful member of the fairer sex. And he’d been on a ship for six weeks. It had nothing to do with any attraction or awakening of desire he felt toward Emma—Miss Hamilton. She was now another sister to take care of, and nothing more.
So, added to his two sisters, he now had a goddess to protect and deliver into a suitable match. If Thomas’s good name didn’t plummet from scandal when the three of them made their entrance into London Society, he’d consider himself a lucky man. And if Thomas were to find three gentlemen of good social standing and family to marry them, he would consider himself the luckiest man in all of England.
Of course, scandal was nothing new to the Wentworth Duchy. His father had seen to that. Thomas still struggled with that to this day. Trying to forgive his father for his recklessness and selfishness was an ongoing problem for Thomas. Oh, he believed he finally had forgiven his father, but the memories haunted him, and someday soon he would have to put them to rest. But he had to admit he would hate for scandal to be attached to his family name again.
Not so much for him, but for his family. His sisters deserved better than their father had given them, and it was not their fault their father had lacked scruples. Thomas was determined to keep respectability attached to their family name.
Thomas’s fingers rubbed the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Miss Emma Hamilton, he had the feeling, would turn out to be the bane of his existence. Could become the reason to numb his mind with strong spirits, rip the hair out of his head, and seek to slake his manly needs with his widow friends. If he survived with his wits intact until he had her safely married off, a celebration with a holiday on the Continent would be his reward.
Thomas forced his mind back to answering his friend’s question. “One could say the meeting was satisfactory. Miss Hamilton should not be too difficult to marry off. Not with her comely looks and her generous inheritance.”
Myles burst out laughing from the coach seat opposite. “Comely? She is much more than comely. When I first spied her out in the foyer, I could no longer breathe. I have never seen such a vision before. For a time I was convinced she was not real, something my imagination created.” Myles paused, his brows drawn in seriousness. “I might consider marriage to her myself.”
“What?” Thomas barked as his chest constricted painfully. “You can’t be serious.”
Myles’s lecherous grin was unnerving. Thomas did not like the look in his eyes, as if Myles envisioned Miss Hamilton in a rather unladylike way.
“Why ever not? She will need a husband, and why not me? I would be doing you a favor taking her off your hands. You need not spend your coin on her wardrobe and such frivolous things a lady needs before she is introduced properly and fashionably into society. I should marry her right off.”
Thomas breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, trying to calm the unfamiliar rage throbbing deep within his body, threatening to escape. If he didn’t control it, he would find himself diving across the seat and beating his closest friend to a bloody pulp.
All this over his new ward. Thomas knew he should be grateful that Myles was considering taking the chit off his hands without much ado. It would certainly save him time, money, and no doubt many headaches caused by dealing with her.
“She is too young for marriage now. Maybe a year or two, or even three will be soon enough to find a suitable husband for her. If you are still willing then, I’ll consider it. Although she might not meet with your family’s approval, seeing as she’s an American and all.”
“Humph,” Myles snorted. “Insofar as I can picture, in that length of time, she will have you wrapped around her little finger. You’ll never let her go. As for being an American, well, someone ought to shake up the prudish debutantes and give them competition.”
“H . . . her finger,” Thomas stuttered, stuck on something Myles said. Even though Myles continued to ramble, he’d caught nothing after ‘wrapped around her finger.’ “Have you lost your wits? No female will ever have the privilege of my undying devotion. I would rather die than be one of those lovesick puppies following behind the skirts of their wives, hoping a morsel or a kind word will be thrown at them.” Thomas growled deep down in his throat. “Those husbands are an embarrassment to the male populace and should be locked inside their homes, never to be seen in public.”
“How odd,” Myles grinned, “that you would compare being wrapped around Miss Hamilton’s finger to being married to her.”