Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(55)

Tell him the truth. Tell him everything, you selfish, cowardly creature.

Later.

For now, Abigail intended to steal this final, beautiful moment before the truth killed all the warmth in Geoffrey’s eyes.





A gentleman should take care to avoid public displays of emotion.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



19

From his spot behind the white, marble pillar, Geoffrey surveyed Lord and Lady Ainsworth’s ballroom. He peered over the rim of his champagne glass, in search of Abigail.

An ominous rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and an icy chill stole through him. Since the tragic night of his father’s death, rain and thunder transported him back to the moment he’d come upon his father’s broken body, eyes opened, staring lifelessly up at the storm-ravaged sky.

“I believe it is going to rain.”

Geoffrey froze, and turned to greet his sister, Sophie. She smiled up at him, her arm looped through her husband’s.

Waxham inclined his head in greeting.

“My that is a dark look,” she said. A clap of thunder punctuated her words.

“Sophie, Waxham,” Geoffrey greeted.

Waxham gave a slight bow.

“You scoundrel,” Sophie whispered. She crossed her arms over her middle. “You had me so thoroughly convinced of your intentions for one lady, and then I must find out from the scandal sheets that you’ve in fact been courting another?”

Geoffrey took another sip of champagne. “It appears you’ve done an even poorer job in reigning in my sister’s cheekiness,” he said to his brother-in-law.

“I wouldn’t even begin to dare try,” Waxham drawled and waved over a passing servant. He accepted a glass of champagne and returned his attention to Geoffrey. “My efforts would prove futile, especially after you’ve indulged her hoydenish behavior through the years.”

Sophie swatted her husband on the arm. “Oh, do behave. The both of you.” She arched a brow. “And do not think to shift the topic, dear brother. Are the reports correct? Am I to acquire a sister-in-law?” Enthusiasm underlined her conspiratorial whisper.

Geoffrey choked around the mouthful of champagne.

His sister’s eyes lit up like a child’s who’d tasted her first ice at Gunter’s. “I am! You needn’t deny it. Your reaction quite confirmed your intentions.”

He frowned, glancing around to determine whether anyone happened to overhear Sophie’s pronouncement. Lords and ladies throughout the room eyed him with a rabid curiosity that made him grit his teeth. If it weren’t for the desire to see Abigail, he’d have taken leave of the evening’s festivities a long while ago. “Do you have no control over your wife?” he said from the corner of his mouth.

His brother-in-law snorted. “If you must ask such a question, it would seem you know your sister a good deal less than I’d originally believed.”

Sophie went on as though they hadn’t spoken. “I can hardly imagine that my very proper, very dull brother has gone and won the affections of an American woman.” At Sophie’s pronouncement, a bolt of lightning lit the ballroom.

Geoffrey’s body jerked. The jagged light lit up the sky and spilled through the floor-length windows and into the room.

Sophie blinked. “Never tell me you’re afraid of a little lightening, brother?” He was spared from answering as she returned to the matter that had driven her over to his private corner of the ballroom. “By mother’s clear displeasure I take it that the rumors are in fact correct.”

Geoffrey’s gaze sought and found his mother. She stood conversing with their gaunt, heavily wrinkled hostess, Lady Ainsworth. A black scowl marred his mother’s face. She held herself with such a stiff rigidity it was a wonder the wind that whipped against the windows didn’t topple her right there.

“The rumors are correct.” His tone sounded weary to his own ears. He’d not have expected the sharp stab of guilt would sting this much. His mother had barely uttered a word to him since he’d very clearly stated his intentions to wed Abigail.

Sophie’s smile dipped.

Waxham cleared his throat. “It is never easy to deviate from the desires and wills of one’s parent,” he said. The gravity of his tone spoke of a man who could identify with Geoffrey’s secret shame. Waxham’s gaze settled momentarily upon his wife’s head. “But, matters of the heart should not be decided by logic and order.”

Just then, at the entrance of the ballroom, Abigail appeared upon the arm of her cousin, Lord Westfield. Geoffrey’s breath hitched in his chest.

Abigail’s violet satin skirts shimmered in the glow of the candlelit ballroom. An intricate floral design threaded with glimmering diamonds had been stitched upon the bodice of her gown. It drew his attention to the generous swell of her bosom and his mouth went dry. She had the look of Eve in the garden of sin, and how he longed to throw aside all that was proper and join her there.

She scanned the ballroom, as though searching for someone, and then their gazes met and held.

Abigail smiled, dipping her head in a subtle greeting.

Geoffrey imagined he was grinning like a love-struck simpleton. But god help him, he wanted her.

“Oh dear,” his sister said, shattering the pull. “You’ve fallen quite hard.”