Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(26)

Silent pity filled her with the knowledge that Beatrice would never welcome his intentions.

Abigail shifted back and forth upon her feet. “You should return home.”

He arched a single, icy, wet brow. “Are you suggesting we not finish our walk?”

“Well, no. Not considering the state of…oh, you’re making light of me.”

Hmm. So it appeared, Geoffrey did have some degree of humor. Even if the firm set to his mouth and frown at the corners of his eyes suggested him incapable of cheerfulness.

Abigail studied the lace in her hands, and then looked up to find Geoffrey’s heated gaze trained upon the distracted movement of her fingers.

“You should leave, Miss Stone.”

She tilted her head back and leaned closed, whispering, “In light of last evening, and today, do you still believe we shouldn’t call one another by our Christian names?”

“It…”

She held her fingers up, so close to his mouth they might as well have been touching, so close, that the hot, seductive scent of brandy upon his breath fanned her skin. “…wouldn’t be proper,” she finished for him.



If they hadn’t been so close she might have failed to note the way his throat bobbed up and down, the first real indication that Lord Redbrooke, Geoffrey, was not as indifferent toward her, as he led her, and mayhap himself, to believe. But she was this close. And she saw it.

He yanked his stare to a point beyond her shoulder. “Madam, we are in public. And you are making a spectacle of you and me. If it hasn’t been clear to you before this point, I have launched a formal courtship of your cousin, with the intention of marriage to Lady Beatrice. Therefore any of this improper closeness and attention you are demonstrating is to cease immediately. Is that clear?”

Her stomach clenched at the pained reminder of his interest in Beatrice, and more than that…the clear condemnation in his eyes, that indicated he’d judged her and found her wanting. In that moment, she forgot about his rescue at Lord and Lady Hughes’s and his recovery of the scrap of lace given her by Lizzie. In that moment, she hated him for making her feel less than the gravel under his sopping boot. And more, she hated herself for having given away her virtue to Alexander Powers and proven this pompous lord correct.

“It is abundantly clear,” she said, when she trusted herself to speak. “Thank you for the lace, my lord. I bid you good day.”

Abigail remembered to dip a curtsy. The servant who’d been hovering discreetly in the distance rushed to keep up with Abigail. As she fled, Geoffrey’s heated gaze fairly scorched a hole upon her retreating frame.





A gentleman does not engage in common activities. Ever.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



9

“My goodness, Geoffrey! Whatever have you done?” his mother screeched as Geoffrey sailed through the front doors of his townhouse, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake.

He stomped past her indignant frame and started up the stairs.

“Geoffrey!” she called, from the bottom step. He paused, and spun about so quickly he sent bits of water spraying. His mother gasped as water landed upon her cheek. She brushed it back as though he’d tossed a dead trout at her person.

He didn’t suspect Abigail Stone would be so shocked by the feel of water upon her skin. Quite the opposite, really. He imagined she’d embrace the cooling feel of it. All manner of wicked yearnings filled him, all of which involved Abigail Stone laid out upon satin sheets, her arms open, her…

“Did you hear what I said, Geoffrey?” His mother’s harsh question jerked him back to the moment.

“No.” He continued his climb.

“Geoffrey,” his mother cried. The soft thread of her slippers upon the marble steps confirmed her pursuit.

He hurried his steps.

“A kitchen maid heard from Lord Carmichael’s groom that you went swimming at Hyde Park and were touching that, that American woman. Whatever were you thinking? It is unfortunate enough I had to expect such scandals from your sister, but…you…?”

Geoffrey stopped so suddenly, his mother stumbled against him. He wanted to toss his head back and snarl at the mere mention of Lord Carmichael, that reprobate bastard. To think he’d ever considered for even an infinitesimal moment, wedding his sister Sophie to that fiend. He held a finger up. “First, I did not go for a swim. I fell into the lake.” A bloody lake he’d rushed into. That, however, was neither here nor there. “Second, that American woman is the cousin of the Duke of Somerset and some respect should be afforded the lady for the connection to that distinguished title.”

Considering any further discussion on the matter officially ended, Geoffrey continued his march. He reached the main hall when his mother called out to him.

“You do know what they say about American women. Nothing proper. They are a scandalous lot, Geoffrey. Why, even her name, Abigail. What decent Englishman and woman name their daughter after a lady’s maid?”

He fisted his hands, as a thin haze of rage descended over his vision. Geoffrey tamped down the immediate defense that sprung to his lips. To do so, however, would encourage Mother’s argument. And he’d long tired of discussing the matter with his mother.

Unfortunately, she seemed quite eager to continue the rather one-sided discourse. “You are the last male in line for the Redbrooke title. You mustn’t do something as…as foolhardy as to sully the title with American bloodlines. Why, her father is a footman.”