Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(41)

When the silence between them stretched onward, she stopped, and set her spoon down, looking up at him.

A half-grin turned the corners of his lips. “And other than the stars, and now your bowl of soup, you’ve not removed your eyes from him.”

Panic built in her breast. She shook her head emphatically, appalled that she’d been so very transparent. “No, you’re mistaken.” Because if Lord Sinclair had detected how thoroughly bewitched, how hopelessly besotted she was with Geoffrey, then surely others had as well. She folded her palms on her lap to hide their tremble. “You are mistaken,” she repeated, this time more firmly.

His eyes lingered upon her face. “I wish that I was,” he said, his words a near whisper. “You intrigue me, Miss Stone. And I’m not one intrigued by marriageable misses.”

She managed a weak smile. “That is kind of you.” Only, there could be no young lady further from appropriate marriageable material, than herself.

“I didn’t say it to be kind. I said it to be truthful. If my mother insists I wed, I’d rather find an unconventional lady such as you.”

A startled laugh burst from her lips, attracting the notice of those seated around the table. She buried her amusement behind her hand. From the opposite end of the table, Geoffrey glowered at her and Lord Sinclair.

Lord Sinclair leaned so close, his breath fanned her cheek. “I do believe he’s jealous, Miss Stone.”

She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “You mistake his disapproval for interest.”

“Come, Miss Stone. You are too intelligent to believe that.” He winked at her. “He was not always serious, you know. Ahh, I see I have your attention now.”

“Have you known Lord Redbrooke very long?” She strove for nonchalance.

Lord Sinclair picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “I say, it’s rather humbling.”

She blinked. “My lord?”

“I’ve sat next to you for more than a half-hour or so. I’ve attempted to charm you and capture your attention, but this is the first real interest you’ve paid me this evening.”

Abigail’s feet curled in her slippers. Mama would be shamed at the deplorable effort she’d put into securing a match. Lord Sinclair was everything a young lady should desire; wickedly handsome, abundantly clever, and quite complimentary. He should be everything she needed to make her forget Alexander’s betrayal.

So why was she sitting here, ruminating like a silly miss about Geoffrey, seated alongside her cousin, holding a glass of wine with such graceful elegance.

After a long stretch of silence, Lord Sinclair sighed. “Yes. I’ve known Redbrooke for a number of years. At one time, we moved in the same social circles. He was always ready with a smile, and quite sought after by the…er…sought after,” he finished lamely.

The ladies.

Abigail studied Geoffrey a moment. With his broad, powerful shoulders, and muscles that fairly strained the fabric of his garment, she imagined women would be mad not to desire the viscount, regardless of his seriousness—seriousness that she found she rather preferred.

“What happened to him?” Abigail asked, unable to call the question back.

Lord Sinclair frowned. “There was a scandal. I’m not certain anyone knows all the details, but it involved a young lady, a baronet’s daughter, I believe. The details of what happened to the lady are not known, but after she disappeared from Polite Society, well, he was never the same.” He followed her gaze to Geoffrey. “I’ve said enough,” he murmured.

As if sensing he were the source of discussion between Abigail and Lord Sinclair, Geoffrey glowered at the both of them.

Lord Sinclair’s next words interrupted her musings. “If I cannot steal your attentions from the very proper Lord Redbrooke, well then I’m going to enjoy making him writhe in his seat with envy.”

“He is not writhing with envy.” Abigail stole a glimpse of Geoffrey. And looked back to Lord Sinclair. “He’s merely shifting in his seat.”

“With envy,” he added.

She smiled, shaking her head at him. “You are incorrigible, my lord.”

A servant appeared, clearing their bowls of soup away and setting out the next course; loin of veal in a béchamel sauce.

“And I’m envious,” he said. Something in his tone, an unexpected seriousness from the normally affable rogue, gave her pause.

Lord Braincourt, seated on the opposite side of Lord Sinclair said something that required his attention, for which Abigail was grateful. She picked up her fork and knife and delicately sliced the veal on her plate. She raised a bite to her mouth and considered Lord Sinclair’s revelation about Geoffrey.

A pang of ugly, very real envy slashed through her.

There had been a young lady—a lady who’d surely made him smile, and considering his stern countenance, had forever changed him into the gentleman Polite Society now saw.

Abigail, however, had seen more. She’d seen a man who’d shed his boots in front of all to see just to rescue her token from Lizzie. She’d witnessed the fury he’d unleashed on Lord Carmichael to protect and defend her. She stared down contemplatively at the plate in front of her, wondering at the lady foolish enough to relinquish Geoffrey.

Having been shamed and humiliated by Alexander, Abigail had an even greater appreciation for a gentleman of integrity, capable of genuine love and devotion.