Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(59)

She’d deceived him.

Five. Six.

All with intentions of trapping him into marriage.

Seven.

Like Emma.

Oh god, he was going to be ill.

He and his mother made their way outside into the violent storm. A servant rushed to help the viscountess into the carriage. Geoffrey paused, outside, and sucked in deep, gasping breaths of air. He embraced the torrents of rain that poured upon him, the wind that whipped strands of hair into his eyes.

“Geoffrey, come in here now,” his mother called from within the dry, confines of the conveyance.

Geoffrey waved aside the servant and climbed inside. He stared blankly out the window as the door closed behind them.

The carriage rocked into motion, and Geoffrey continued to say nothing on it. His mother remained uncharacteristically silent; no vitriolic words, no shrieking recriminations, and somehow it made his transgression all the worse.

“I’m sorry, Geoffrey,” his mother said at long last. “I know you cared for her.”

I didn’t care for her.

I loved her.





A gentleman should not bother with Society’s gossip.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



21

A certain American relative of the Duke of S was forced from her country in disgrace after…

Geoffrey tossed the copy of The Times onto his desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Since the paper had arrived earlier that morning, he’d read those same seventeen words over and over and over. Each time, he’d willed there to be another Duke of S with a scandalous American relative.

His heart tightened.

He had been a bloody fool where Abigail Stone was concerned, but he was no idiot.

There was only one American relative of the Duke of S who’d been forced from her country in disgrace for lying with a gentleman outside the bonds of marriage.

Geoffrey surged to his feet. The leather of his seat crackled in protest of the abrupt movement. He picked up the copy of The Times and strode over to the fire raging inside the hearth.

Geoffrey tossed the paper into the flames, and stared on with blank eyes as black singed the corners of the parchment. The ends curled, and then a reddish-orange flame swallowed it in a small fiery-red conflagration until it was no more. He didn’t need to punish himself with the sordid details of her past; the hell of his private imaginings was quite enough.

Geoffrey braced his hands upon the mantle, and took a steadying breath. If only it were as simple to rid himself of the truth that had been contained within those pages.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The Gods laughing at him for having given his heart to another woman who’d only intended to deceive him.

A knock sounded at the door.

He ignored it.

It opened, and then the soft thread of footsteps registered. “You must not closet yourself away like this, Geoffrey.”

He stiffened at his mother’s censorious tone.

God she was tenacious.

“People are talking. Please. Visit your clubs or accept an invitation to some event this evening. It doesn’t do for it to appear you felt any real feelings for that woman.”

“Abigail,” he said tiredly. He scrubbed the back of his hand over his face. “Her name is Abigail.” He sucked in a slow breath.

I know we’ve not been properly introduced but after your timely intervention, I imagine we’ve moved beyond rigid politeness. My name is Abigail. Abigail Stone.

“Surely there is a mistake,” he said, aloud those flat, deadened words spoken to himself, came as if they belonged to a stranger.

His mother reached over and placed her hand upon his other hand, until he forced his fingers to lessen the unholy grip he had upon the mantle. “I don’t think so.”

And neither did he.

He’d seen the horrified shame and guilt that had radiated from the depths of her storm-gray eyes. Forgive me, she’d whispered.

No, there was no mistake. No lie told by anyone but Abigail.

An icy cold filled him, a chill that had nothing to do with his rain-sopped garments. His heart hardened, the organ froze inside him and cracked.

What a fool he’d been.

Again.

“Geoffrey…”

He glanced over his shoulder at his mother disinterestedly. “Mother, I have business matters to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”

“But…” she must have seen something in his eyes that indicated his total lack of desire to discuss Miss Abigail Stone or his plans for the afternoon or anything else. Her lips pursed and she gave a curt nod. After the door closed behind her, Geoffrey returned his attention to the fire.

Against all his better judgment, against his highly-valued logic, he’d been unable to resist Abigail’s allure. He’d become hopelessly and helplessly besotted by her.

Geoffrey grimaced. He’d vowed to never again give himself over to the heady emotions of love, and instead establish an advantageous match based on nothing more than wealth and status.

And with just one snag of her too-long hem, he’d tossed aside everything that mattered.

His stomach tightened as he at last allowed each bit of Abigail’s betrayal to seep into his agonized musings.

She’d forced him to feel again. Made him yearn for the impractical. He slashed his hand through his hair. Christ, he’d shared the most personal details of Emma Marsh and more, the death of his father—words he’d never before uttered to another soul.