Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(84)

Abigail pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Geoffrey, none of that matters.”

Sinclair strode over and slapped Geoffrey upon the back. “Allow me to have my cook prepare dinner.”

“No,” Geoffrey said. He’d been parted too long from Abigail and would not take the time for social niceties…even if that were the proper thing to do. He took Abigail by the hand, and pulled her along to the front of the earl’s office.

She squeezed his hand hard. “Be polite.” She silently mouthed.

Geoffrey’s mouth tightened. He sighed and looked back at Sinclair. “No, thank you.”

Abigail tugged her fingers free of his grasp and turned to Sinclair. “My lord, thank you so much for everything you’ve done this day.”

Sinclair reached for her hand, and bowed over it. “It was an honor, my lady.”

Geoffrey’s frown deepened and he reached between them, disentangling their hands. Though appreciative of Sinclair’s efforts on his and Abigail’s behalf, Geoffrey did not appreciate reminders of how bloody engaging and charming the Earl of Sinclair happened to be. Geoffrey gritted his teeth. “Very well, thank you again, then.”

Abigail’s brother stepped forward. He slapped Geoffrey on the back with a hard thwack, the casual gesture belied by the hard glint in the other man’s eyes. “Hurt her, and I’ll kill you, Redbrooke.”

“I promise to care for her,” Geoffrey vowed.” He’d make it his life vow to fill her every day with the joy she deserved.

Nathaniel placed his hands on Abigail’s shoulders, and gave a gentle squeeze.

She nodded. “I know, Nathaniel.” She leaned up and placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and just like that, she became Geoffrey’s to care for and love for the remainder of their days.





In matters of the heart, a gentleman should honor the emotion called love.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



33

The fingers of dusk edged out the day sky, and met in a vibrant explosion of violet and crimson hues that filled the night’s horizon.

Abigail’s stomach lurched as the Duke of Somerset’s barouche rocked to a halt in front of Geoffrey’s townhouse. She released the curtain and it fluttered back into place.

“Are you ready to go in, love?” he whispered against her ear.

She jerked her gaze over toward Geoffrey.

Her mouth went dry under the sudden realization that she’d need to face Geoffrey’s mother. The proper lady had never looked at Abigail with any hint of warmth or kindness. “Your mother will be displeased,” she murmured, wishing she could remain unaffected by the older woman’s disdain. Except this was Geoffrey’s mother, and the woman’s opinion mattered because of it.

Geoffrey brushed back several loose strands of hair that had fallen around Abigail’s shoulder. He placed his lips to her wildly fluttering pulse. “Mother is never pleased,” he whispered.

She slapped at his arm. “You are incorrigible. Your mother—”

“Will be attending one event or another this evening.”

A cowardly sigh of relief escaped Abigail. No matter how small, Abigail welcomed the reprieve.

The driver opened the door and a soothing, spring breeze caressed her face.

Geoffrey leapt down, and tucked that small, unopened package under his arm. Next, he turned and helped Abigail from the carriage.

Once on the pavement, Abigail tilted her head to the right and shifted her lower back in attempt to stretch the cramped muscles. Then, she placed her fingers on Geoffrey’s coat sleeve and followed him up the steps of the impressive townhouse.

She looked at the familiar stone steps and the white stucco fa?ade, remembering back to a vastly different nigh, and a chill stole through her.

Geoffrey touched a hand to the small of her back. He whispered close to her ear. “Don’t. Please, do not let that be what you think of whenever you are here. It would break me, Abigail.”

The front door opened.

Geoffrey guided her inside where they were greeted by the severe looking butler who’d bore witness to Abigail’s humiliation a fortnight ago.

“Ralston, may I introduce you to the Viscountess Redbrooke.”

Ralston’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. He swiftly remembered himself and bowed. “May I wish you felicitations on your nuptials, my lord?”

“Nuptials?”

As one, Abigail and Geoffrey’s gaze swung upward to the top of the long staircase to where the viscountess stood in a burgundy satin evening gown.

Abigail swallowed. It would appear her reprieve was to be far shorter lived than she’d either anticipated or hoped.

The viscountess swept down the stairs. Her skirts snapped and swirled angrily about her ankles. “Nuptials?” she hissed. “Nuptials?”

Abigail curtsied. “My lady.”

Geoffrey’s mother looked through Abigail like she was nothing more than an apparition haunting the townhouse. The regal viscountess’ attention fixed on Geoffrey.

Geoffrey caught Abigail’s hand and gave a faint squeeze in unspoken support. “Mother, remember yourself,” he bit out.

Her mouth opened and closed in way that reminded Abigail of a bass fish she’d once caught. The fish had flipped and twisted upon the ground, before she’d taken mercy upon the creature and tossed him back into the sea.