Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(30)

As if burned, Geoffrey yanked his fingers back. He’d just tried to rip a page from the famed betting books. What in hell was wrong with him?

Abigail Stone.

The sooner the young lady returned to America, the better off he would be.

He looked to Sinclair. “You shall meet no resistance from me in your courtship of Miss Stone.” With those words, he bowed, and took his leave; for the first time hating his dedication to propriety and his image amidst Society.





A gentleman must be diligent in his studies and have an appreciation for matters of intellect.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



10

The following morning, Geoffrey rose and dressed, with his resolve to court and wed Lady Beatrice strengthened. He’d already focused enough of his too important time upon the unsuitable Miss Stone. Determination fueled his strides as he marched up the front steps of the Duke of Somerset’s townhouse, and rapped on the door. As he waited for the butler, he turned out and studied the busy street and carriages with a direct intensity that caused the passing gentlemen and ladies to politely avert their attention.

He spun around as the door opened, and held out his calling card. “To see Lady Beatrice.” Not her cousin. Not the delectable, troublesome American miss.

The expressionless servant bowed, and motioned for him to enter. Geoffrey handed his cloak and hat over to the butler and followed him as he led him to Lady Beatrice.

Each step that carried him closer to Lady Beatrice echoed with the words his father had tried to ingrain into him.

Duty.

Words Geoffrey had so foolishly ignored for the love of a woman.

Honor.

A woman who’d wanted nothing more than to foist her bastard off on him.

Responsibility.

… and enjoy the wealth marriage to him would have assured her.

Decorum.

His father’s lifeless face flashed in his mind, and he momentarily closed his eyes at the familiar ache of guilt and pain.

Atonement.

The butler stopped and opened a door. Laughter, clear, and honest as a summer’s day filled the brightly lit parlor, and spilled from the room. The husky, delicious alto could only belong to one woman.

“The Viscount Redbrooke.”

Upon his introduction, conversation in the bright, sunny parlor, died. His gaze alighted on Lady Beatrice, seated on a floral upholstered sofa, an embroidery frame in her hands. She set it down on the table in front of her and rose, amidst fluttering elegant pink satin skirts.

With her golden curls and the refined lines of her heart-shaped face, she epitomized genteel English beauty.

Then his eyes fell to Abigail, who occupied the seat next to Lady Beatrice.

He wanted to find the generous swell of her breasts and gently flared hips unbecoming on a proper lady. But by God, Abigail Stone possessed the kind of beauty man fought wars for.

She tipped her chin up a notch under his lengthy scrutiny. The slight tightening of her lips indicated she believed he’d evaluated her and found her wanting.

When in truth, he was the only one to be found wanting.

He bowed. “My lady. Miss Stone,” he greeted. He loathed the pull she had over him; a pull that made a mockery of the vow he’d taken after his father’s death.

Lady Beatrice nudged Abigail.

Abigail sprung to her feet, and curtsied. “My lord.”

Geoffrey felt Abigail’s stare on him and it occurred to him that she expected cool disdain from him. His mouth tightened. It appeared she possessed a rather ill-opinion of Geoffrey. “Hello, Miss Stone.”

“Hello, my lord.”

Beatrice motioned to the matching King Louis chair next to her seat. He hesitated a moment, eyeing the remaining spot alongside Abigail with a covetous longing he should be flogged for.

“Would you care for refreshments? Abigail was sharing her knowledge of the Greek myths,” Beatrice explained, folding her hands upon her satin skirts.

“No, refreshments,” he murmured. He quirked a brow in Abigail’s direction. “Greek myths?”

She colored, quite prettily from the tip of her head, down her neck, until he wondered just how far the heat of embarrassment ran.

Beatrice continued. “And she’s been teaching me of astrology and astronomy. She knows a good deal about the constellations. Abigail suggested that I might someday visit the Royal Astronomical Society.” Beatrice blushed.

It would appear Miss Stone had turned Lady Beatrice into something of a bluestocking, not something he’d dashed upon his list of acceptable traits for his future viscountess.

Geoffrey directed his attention to Abigail. “You study the constellations, Miss Stone. I find that rather interesting endeavor for a respectable young lady.”

She squared her shoulders. “I take it you disapprove of a lady who is learned in such matters.”

He hooked his ankle across his knee. “Quite the opposite. I value a woman who possesses a keen mind and sharp intellect.”

He could tell by the slight widening of her eyes that he’s startled her with his admission.

Her lips tilted up at the corner in the hint of a smile. “My father is a shipping magnate in America, my lord. An appreciation for the stars and all things having to do with the sky is something he instilled in his children from early on.”

So the young lady’s family owned a shipping venture. Yes, he’d known a powerful shipping magnate had been connected to the Duke of Somerset in some way or another. The research provided by his solicitor had confirmed as much. “What manner of goods does your father deal in, Miss Stone?”