Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(70)

Had her own circumstances not been quite so mortifying, Annabelle would have dissolved into laughter at the earl’s expression.

Frowning, Lillian returned her attention to Annabelle. “It may not be too late to salvage things,” she said. “We’ll make everyone here promise to hold their tongues about having seen you and Mr. Hunt together. Without any witnesses, it hasn’t happened.”

Lord Westcliff considered the words with a scowl. “Much as I despise the prospect of agreeing with Miss Bowman,” he said darkly, “I have to concur. The best thing for all concerned is for us to ignore this incident. Miss Peyton and Mr. Hunt have not been seen, and, therefore, no one has been compromised, which means that there will be no consequences to this unfortunate situation.”

“Oh, yes, she has been compromised,” Hunt said in sudden grim determination. “By me. And I don’t want to avoid the consequences, Westcliff. I—”

“Yes, you do,” the earl assured him authoritatively. “I’ll be damned if I’ll allow you to ruin your life over this creature, Hunt.”

“Ruin his life?” Lillian repeated indignantly. “Mr. Hunt couldn’t do better than to marry a girl like Annabelle! How dare you insinuate that she isn’t good enough for him, when obviously he’s the one who—”

“No,” Annabelle interrupted anxiously. “Please, Lillian—”

“Excuse us,” Mr. Shaw murmured with impeccable politeness, doing a poor job of concealing a grin. He pulled Lady Olivia’s hand through the crook of his arm and executed a graceful bow in no particular direction. “I believe that my fiancee and I will excuse ourselves from the proceedings, being somewhat de trop. I think I can safely speak for the both of us when I say that we intend to be as deaf, dumb, and blind as a trio of Hong Tze monkeys.” His blue eyes sparkled with good-natured humor. “We’ll leave the rest of you to decide just what has been seen and heard tonight…or not. Come, darling.” Drawing Lady Olivia away with him, he escorted her back toward the manor.

The earl turned to the Bowmans’ mother, a tall woman with a narrow, foxlike face. She had worked her expression into one of righteous indignation, but had held her tongue out of a desire not to miss anything. As Daisy later explained ruefully, Mrs. Bowman never had her conniptions in the middle of an act, preferring to save them for intermission.

“Mrs. Bowman,” Westcliff asked, “may I prevail on you to maintain your silence regarding this matter?”

Had the earl, or any other titled man within reach, asked the ambitious Mrs. Bowman to jump headfirst into the flower bed for his amusement, she would have done so with a perfect somersault. “Oh, of course, my lord—I would never spread such distasteful gossip. My daughters are such sheltered innocents—it grieves me to see what their association with this…this unscrupulous girl has brought them to. I’m certain that a gentleman of your discernment can see that my two angels are completely blameless in this situation, having been led astray by the scheming young woman they sought to befriend.”

Casting a skeptical glance at the two “angels,” Westcliff replied coldly. “Quite.”

Hunt, who had retained a possessive arm around Annabelle’s waist, surveyed the lot of them coolly. “Do as you please. Miss Peyton is going to be compromised tonight, one way or another.” He began to pull her along the path with him. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” Annabelle asked, resisting his hold on her wrist.

“To the house. If they’re not willing to be witnesses, then it seems I’ll have to debauch you in front of someone else.”

“Wait!” Annabelle squeaked. “I’ve already agreed to marry you! Why must I be compromised again?”

Hunt ignored the combined protests of Westcliff and the Bowmans as he replied succinctly. “Insurance.”

Annabelle braced her heels, refusing to budge as he pulled at her arm. “You have no need of insurance! Do you think I would break my promise to you?”

“In a word, yes.” Calmly, Hunt began to drag her along the path. “Now, where should we go? The entrance hall, I think. Plenty of people to witness you being ravished there. Or maybe the card room—”

“Simon,” Annabelle protested, as she was hauled unceremoniously in his wake. “Simon—”

Her use of his name caused Hunt to stop suddenly, turning to look down at her with a curious half smile. “Yes, sweet?”

“For God’s sake,” Westcliff muttered, “let’s save this for amateur theatrical night, shall we? If you’re so bloody bent on having her, Hunt, then you may as well spare us all any further exhibitions. I’ll gladly bear witness from here to London about your fiancee’s besmirched honor, if only to have some peace around here. Just don’t ask me to stand up with you at the wedding, as I have no desire to be a hypocrite.”

“No, just an ass,” came Lillian’s murmur.

Low-spoken as the words were, it appeared that Westcliff had heard. His dark head whipped around, and he met Lillian’s deliberately innocent expression with a threatening scowl. “As for you—”

“We’re all agreed, then,” Simon interrupted, preventing what surely would have evolved into a prolonged argument. He glanced at Annabelle with purely male satisfaction. “You’ve been compromised. Now let’s go find your mother.”