The Rogue and I by Eva Devon

say, brother. You are the duke after all.”
    “So I am.” James smiled to himself. There was no doubt in his mind. He’d maneuvered men across battlefields and continents to victory. Pushing two people into a mountain of loving bliss really didn’t seem to be nearly as difficult. But it would be infinitely more rewarding.
    *      *     *
    G arret marched towards the courtyard, a sense of aggravation beating through him. It was his second long walk of the day. He was becoming intimate with Trent’s topiary.
    How in the hell had he ended up in this predicament? Five years ago, when he’d hied himself off to the continent, he was certain he would never have to tangle with the she-cat again. But here he was.
    He raked his hand along the wide hedgerows that led into the intricately laid garden before the house, savoring the scratchiness of it. Full of fountains and winding topiary, he had every intention of walking each inch of the damned garden until he’d worked out his tenuous position.
    “Harriet! In love with Garret!” a voice boomed with shock from behind the hedge to Garret’s right.
    The words ricocheted through his ears, around his brain and then seemed to suck his ability to walk properly from his limbs. His toe caught on a pavement stone. He staggered forward and face planted into the hedge.
    “No!” James said, his voice laced with horror. “You must jest. We all know how she hates him.”
    Garret spat the little, waxy leaves from his mouth, shoving at the hedge, yet unable to extricate himself from the damned bush. Yes. That was more like it. Harriet hated him. . . Just like he hated her.
    “No,” Edward exclaimed, his voice full of gossipy woe.
    Garret hung in the hedge, his legs as unresponsive as two bludgeoned fish. Hell, his entire body, including his eyelids, seemed paralyzed.
    “She loves him desperately. Piteously,” Edward sighed, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone.
    Garret’s mouth opened, jabbing his chin into a pokey branch. He snapped his lips shut, lest he curse the offending bit of greenery and strained to hear more.
    “It is true,” Edward said emphatically.
    It— It— It was complete tosh. It had to be. Still, Garret wormed his way further into the hedge, pushing his hands into the tangle of branches. He worked an opening and spotted Edward’s back. Damn. Damn. Why couldn’t he see the blighter’s face?
    “How can you possibly know this?” James demanded, his voice as serious as when he had to consider the eviction of a tenant.
    Edward shrugged. “Emmaline of course.”
    Emmaline? Emmaline had told Edward this? Garret’s heart slammed in his ribs as disbelief rang raucously in his head. And did something quite bizarre to his heart. He could have sworn the organ did a little frolic. Something his heart was not supposed to be capable of doing.
    “Whatever could she have told you?” James asked, his voice softer now.
    Edward shook his russet head sadly. “That she cries herself to sleep at night. That she often calls his name in her sleep. Emmaline often worries for her.”
    Garret released his hold on the branches. Instantly, they thwacked him in the face. He pulled back, a mixture of shock and indignation pulsing through him. This had to be a joke of some kind. His brothers knew he was here. Yes. That was it. They were setting a trap for him. . . But why would they drag Harry’s name into it? Emmaline too. It seemed unusually cruel for James to play such a ruse.
    Perhaps. . . Perhaps. . . No. No. Garret shook his head wildly. He wouldn’t give credence to this. He couldn’t. It shook the very foundation of everything he had believed these last five years.
    His brothers’ voices murmured on the other side of hedge. Unable to help himself, Garret leaned back in towards the nefarious hedge.
    The voices were drifting off, down one of the constructed alleys in the garden. Scowling, Garret headed after them, doing his best to tiptoe along the gravel. Good