A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(38)

Lily’s eyes went wide. What?

Was that what they said about him?

And then the name echoed through her—The Scottish Brute—she loathed that moniker. Loathed the idea that it was whispered behind his back. Loathed the idea that he was whispered about, at all.

No wonder he hated London; in that moment, she did, as well.

She couldn’t help herself from looking at him, her gaze lingering on his perfect mouth for a long moment, the word sexual whirling through her mind, before she remembered that she disliked him. “I wouldn’t know,” she said.

“Hmm. Probably not, then,” Sesily smirked.

“Good God, Sesily. Stop it,” Seline said.

“It’s important to know a thing like that before one leaps into the fray!”

“Ugh. You should marry him. Polite society would no doubt be thrilled to be rid of you.”

Sesily turned to Lily, a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t listen to them. Society can’t get enough of me.”

“No accounting for taste,” Seleste teased, and the entire group laughed. Lily couldn’t stop her own lips from curving as well—the emotion and energy of the Talbot sisters was undeniable. They were the embodiment of everything Lily had always imagined came with sisters. With family. With friends.

There was such love between them.

Jealousy flared, unbidden and unwelcome, and Lily willed it away. She didn’t wish to be jealous. She didn’t wish to envy them their close-knit group.

But she did. With every ounce of her being.

And it wasn’t just their combined fearlessness in the face of social disdain, as though they’d never in their lives felt shame. Her chest tightened as she listened to their laughter, to the way it echoed with humor and love and trust and a bone-deep loyalty, and she wanted to be one of them. Quite desperately.

The fact that they gossiped publicly and brazenly didn’t hurt.

“Too late, Sesily. Look who is after him,” Seline said casually, her gaze fixed over Lily’s shoulder.

Lily turned to look as a beautiful woman approached Alec and Eversley. She saw him stiffen, even from the distance between them. Saw his gaze trail down, then up the woman’s body as she drew close, almost too close, considering where they stood, in full view of Society.

“Who is that?” The question was out before she could stop it.

“Lady Rowley,” Sesily said dismissively. “Married to Earl Rowley, devilishly handsome and a thorough cad. He’s been after all of us at one point or another. To no avail, obviously, as he very likely has the pox.”

“Sesily!” Sophie said.

“Oh, please. It’s not as though you haven’t thought it yourself.”

“Nevertheless, we don’t discuss poxes in the ballroom!”

A gentleman passing nearby paused, looking to them with shock, and the sisters burst into laughter. Seline waved a hand and said, “Nothing for you to worry about, my lord,” before turning back and saying, “Now Baron Orwell thinks we’ve the pox!”

“No, no, Lord Orwell,” Sesily said too loudly, making Lily blush. “We are discussing Lord Rowley. Do you have an opinion on his probable poxiness?”

“I’m sure I don’t,” the man said down his nose before hurrying away.

They all laughed, and Lily enjoyed it until her attention was returned to Alec, still in discussion with the Countess Rowley. Sesily followed her gaze and said, “Well. It looks like the earl is not the only one willing to eschew his marriage vows.” Lillian couldn’t help but agree. They were not touching, but the countess could not be more free with her bosom without stripping bare in front of all London.

Not that Lily cared whose bosom Alec had access to.

“That smile takes years to perfect,” Seline said with admiration.

Lillian pressed her lips together and turned away from the couple. “I imagine so.”

“Do you think they know each other?” Seleste asked. “I mean, they say he’s a wicked catch, but I can’t see him with her.”

Neither could Lily. Not that she wanted to even try.

“If they don’t, they will soon enough,” Sesily said.

Lily didn’t care. Not at all. She forced her shoulder up in a quick, stilted shrug and turned her back to the scene. “She’s welcome to him.”

“Ooh. Warnick might require a tailor, but he’s quite skilled at the cut direct,” Sesily narrated.

Lily resisted the urge to turn.

“She looks furious,” Sophie said in awe before she raised her voice and said, full of unfounded glee, “And here are the gentlemen!”

“This is trouble,” the Marquess of Eversley said from behind Lily, and she had no choice but to turn—it was simply good manners. The marquess looked relaxed and jovial, clearly a welcome fifth to the merry Talbot band. Alec, however, looked pale and stiff.

No doubt because he was in Lily’s presence once more.

“Don’t corrupt Miss Hargrove, ladies,” Eversley teased. “Remember, she’s new to London’s ballrooms.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Not on the first night, at least.”

“Next time, however, it’s a certainty,” Sesily replied before turning to Alec and reaching for him. Lily was impressed by the movement, one lithe hand stretched out, leaving him no choice but to accept Sesily’s touch. “Your Grace,” the woman fairly purred as she lowered herself into a curtsy. “Do tell me something . . .”