Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(58)

“Step aside, Carmichael,” he seethed.

A loud chortling laugh escaped Carmichael, but broke off into a fit of choking. “Redbrooke,” he said when he’d again managed to breathe.

His mother placed her fingertips along his coat sleeve, and she gave a faint squeeze. “Geoffrey,” she said quietly.

“Rushing off, eh, Redbrooke?” He waggled his overgrown, bushy white eyebrows. “Can’t run from a scandal, really, though can you? Why, not even an ocean away is enough, sometimes.” He dissolved into another round of laughter as though he’d delivered the wittiest of jests.

Geoffrey peered down his nose at Lord Carmichael. “What are you on about?” he said brusquely.

Carmichael’s eyes went wide in his fleshy face. He slapped a hand to his chest, and looked around in feigned disbelief.

“Geoffrey,” his mother said again, the thin thread of desperation there sent off the first warning bells within his mind.

“Never tell me, you’ve not heard,” Carmichael said in a loud whisper.

Geoffrey should continue onward and leave the old bastard prattling on like the bloody fool he was, but something compelled him to feed that question. “Heard?”

The old lord shook his head, the swift movement displaced a strand of white hair, and it fell over his eye, displaying his carefully covered balled pate. “Why, that scandalous bit of goods. Your Miss Stone. Tsk. Tsk.”

Geoffrey’s mouth went dry, and his hands balled into tight fists at his side. He clenched and unclenched them, until he realized what he was doing. Again, Abigail’s tormented visage flashed behind his eyes: her hasty flight from the ball, the bleeding anguish in her eyes.

Forgive me.

“Geoffrey, please,” his mother said again. The uncharacteristic desperate plea in that utterance should have propelled him forward.

“What are you talking about?” Geoffrey could no sooner call the words back than he could cut off his right limb.

Lord Carmichael’s eyebrows shot to the middle of his brow, and he slapped a hand to his chest. “Why, never tell me you don’t know?” he said with feigned shock. He shook his head back and forth pityingly.

“What?” Geoffrey’s voice sounded flat to his own ears.

“Well, about that American miss.” He leaned so close, his stale breath slapped Geoffrey’s face, but Geoffrey’s struggle to breathe had nothing to do with the fetid odor. “Apparently there was a scandal. But then, I’m sure you knew that. All the gossip says you planned to wed the creature. You’d not do something as foolish as that. After all, you’re a proper and honorable sort of fellow. Surely you’d not taint the Redbrooke line with…” He must have seen something written in Geoffrey’s face, for his eyes widened. “Oh, you haven’t heard.” He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Heard?” Geoffrey asked his voice wooden.

Carmichael waved his hand in a flourish. “About the whole incident of her being discovered with her lover.” A chortling laugh burst from his thick chest. “Her family hastily packed her up and sent her off to the Duke of Somerset, apparently trying to marry the girl off to some unsuspecting gentleman.” He gave Geoffrey a pointed look. “Then, her father is nothing more than a servant, so one shouldn’t be too shocked by it.”

Geoffrey’s heartbeat slowed, slowed, faltered, and then paused for an infinitesimal moment. Carmichael’s words blurred and blended together until Geoffrey blinked, trying to make sense of them.

Abigail…Lover…Scandal.

“No,” he whispered. His Abigail was not capable of treachery or deceit. “You’re wrong,” Geoffrey said when he trusted himself to speak through the rage thrumming through his body. He’d face the bloody bastard at dawn for daring to impugn her honor.

Carmichael waggled his brows, and then shook his head. The subtle movement displaced another stringy white strand of hair. “I don’t think I am,” he said with clear relish. “I’ve contacts in America who happened to mention the scandal in a recent correspondence.” He cast a glance over at the viscountess. “Why, all the details about Miss Stone aren’t appropriate for a lady’s ears.” He bowed with a flourish. “If you’ll excuse me, Redbrooke?” With a snorting laugh, the corpulent lord took his leave.

Geoffrey stared blankly after Carmichael’s retreating figure.

Abigail had not have taken a lover. She could not have.

Lover. His gut clenched as that scandalous, horrific word twisted about his brain like an insidious poison seeping into every corner of his mind and body.

He thought of her hasty retreat, the panic in her eyes…she had borne the look of a woman hunted. He clenched his fists so tightly, he raised blood on his palms.

Geoffrey suddenly became aware of the crowd’s gaze riveted upon him. She’d been a woman hunted by English Society.

“Let us go, Geoffrey,” his mother said quietly.

Wordlessly, Geoffrey fell into step beside his mother. Lord and Lady Ainsworth’s guests parted, allowing him to make his exit; all the while they studied him with a gleeful fascination.

He swallowed hard, but kept his stony gaze directed forward, and silently counted steps.

One. Two. Three.

She’d had a lover.

Four.