Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(40)

She took her leave with a stony silence. As the door closed with a decisive click, he fetched his partially drunk glass of brandy and the crystal decanter, and carried them over to his desk. Geoffrey settled into the comfortable leather folds of his winged back chair, and sloshed the liquid into his glass. He set the bottle down.

This had been the exact spot Father had sat the moment Geoffrey had confessed his intentions to wed Emma Marsh.

His fingers tightened reflexively about the glass. Diminutive and possessed of hazel eyes and hair like spun gold, she could not be more different in appearance than Abigail. A bright-eyed, teasing flirt, Emma had been the youngest daughter to an impoverished baronet and with her tinkling laugh, she had captivated Geoffrey the moment he’d first seen her at Almack’s.

She had led him a merry little chase, vowing not to settle for a match less than a marquess.

Geoffrey stared into the amber depths of his glass. When she’d suddenly shifted her attentions and affections wholeheartedly to him, he’d naively believed she’d loved him, besotted fool that he was.

He finished his brandy in one gulp, welcoming the fiery trail it blazed down his throat.

His mother constantly likened Abigail to Emma…but nothing could be further from the truth. Abigail did not crave and require pretty compliments and the undivided attention as Emma had. In fact, he could count on just one hand the number of sets Abigail had danced. Instead, she seemed to prefer keeping company of the partner-less young ladies, and skirted the edges of Society’s periphery.

Geoffrey poured himself another brandy, well onto his way to getting thoroughly foxed.

He’d defied his family’s wishes only once before. The outcome had proven disastrous. The consequence one he would never be fully absolved of.

But bastard that he was, Geoffrey still yearned to make a match not dictated by stiff propriety and decorum.

Tonight he would take dinner with the Duke of Somerset and see to his responsibilities…just as he had done for five years.

Geoffrey hadn’t wanted for more…

Until now.





While attending dinner parties, a gentleman should give his undivided attention to the persons seated next to him.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



14

One head of hare.

One serpent.

Abigail’s gaze moved beyond Lord Lewlick’s shoulder and focused on the window. The curtains were drawn back just enough to allow the moon to filter its white light through the brocaded fabric, and reveal a smattering of stars.

She craned her neck. Was there really just one serpent? She’d imagine with the powerful Medusa, the Greeks would have had more…

“I do so hope that frown has nothing to do with my company?” A deep baritone drawled close to her ear.

Abigail jerked her attention back to Lord Sinclair, the dark devil who’d been assigned the seat beside her during her uncle’s dinner party.

She picked up her spoon and toyed with the pistachios and pomegranate garnish in her bowl of white soup. “Forgive me,” she said, offering him a smile. “I was considering the stars,” she confessed.

Sinclair sat back in his seat. “I was considering the stars as well,” he confessed.

Abigail scrambled forward in her seat. “Truly?”

He leaned close, so close she detected the hint of red wine upon his breath. “I was thinking how the brightest star couldn’t compare to your beauty, Miss Stone.”

Abigail sat back in her chair, her jerky movements caused her elbow to knock the table. Soup spilled over the side of her bowl and smattered the ivory lace tablecloth. “Oh,” she said, blinking down at it.

A servant rushed over and she used the diversionary opportunity to look away from Lord Sinclair’s intense scrutiny.

She knew she should be appreciative, and honored by his effusive compliments and high-praise, and yet…she sighed, battling down disappointment.

“Do you know, Miss Stone,” Lord Sinclair began when the servant slipped away, “you seem less than thrilled by my compliment.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. Not at all. It is just…” She cleared her throat. “That is to say…”

He rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, looking for all the world like a man who owned the dining room and was not a mere guest of the Duke of Somerset’s dinner party.

Abigail glanced down the long dining table. Her stare landed on Beatrice, now conversing with Lord Sedgwick, who occupied the seat on her right.

To her left, sat the Viscount Redbrooke.

Abigail sucked in a breath. Instead of looking at Beatrice, Geoffrey’s raw, heated stare was fixed upon Abigail.

“I’ve never known Lord Redbrooke to do anything so bold as to stare in public.”

She jumped at Lord Sinclair’s statement.

Even with the great space separating them, Abigail detected the four creases that furrowed Geoffrey’s brow, and the subtle muscle that twitched in the corner of his lip.

“It appears you’ve captivated the viscount,” Sinclair said, his tone peculiar.

Abigail shook her head. “No. He is courting my cousin…”

“He might be courting your cousin, Miss Stone, but he’s not removed his eyes from you since the moment we were seated.”

Abigail stared into the contents of her porcelain bowl, unwilling to meet Lord Sinclair’s knowing expression. She picked up her spoon and tapped it distractedly along the side of her place setting.