Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(10)

And if she chose carefully, wisely, she wouldn’t have to contend with a man wreaking destruction over her life and body. To say nothing of her heart.

For two days, she avoided Thrumgoodie, in no mood to see again his wretched nephew, who had taken residence at the earl’s Mayfair mansion during his visit. She frequently replayed that moment when she’d stumbled upon him gossiping about her to Mr. Blackwell and Lord McKinney. The wretch.

Then she realized that she was being cowardly. The last thing she wanted Hamilton to think was that he’d succeeded in running her off. Indeed not. With that thought in mind, she accepted the earl’s invitation to dinner. Her father, invited as well, accompanied her. He reveled in these affairs, mingling among the peerage over glittering crystal and the finest port. Wearing the rich, garish colors his tailor convinced him were the height of ton fashion. He enjoyed nothing more.

It was a small dinner party, no more than a dozen guests. Cleo dressed in her best, feeling fortified in a gown of bronze silk that made the hidden lights gleam in her dark hair. At least that’s what the modiste had told her when she selected the fabric. She only hoped she wasn’t being led astray as her father was.

Jack helped her from her cloak and handed it to a waiting groom. Offering his arm, he led her into the drawing room where everyone was gathered before dinner. As they approached, she could hear the familiar din of Lady Libba hammering away at the keys. From the sound of it, the pianoforte might very well crumble beneath the onslaught.

“Hope she bloody well quits that racket soon,” her father murmured in her ear. “Might turn off my appetite.”

Despite herself Cleo chuckled and grinned, all gaiety when she entered the room.

As though a magnet drew her, her eyes landed on him first. The sight of Lord McKinney startled her as it shouldn’t. He stood straight as an oak beside the pianoforte, turning the pages when Libba indicated he should.

He spotted her, too. His direct stare flustered her. Her fingers flexed on Jack’s arm and he sent her a curious glance. Inwardly, she commanded herself to recall herself—who she was, what she was about.

She greeted first the earl and then the other guests. Unfortunately that meant she had to eventually face Lord McKinney again and exchange pleasantries.

As Libba finished playing, Cleo nodded in greeting. “Good evening, Libba. Lord McKinney.”

His gaze skimmed her, from the top of her head to the toes of her golden slippers, and then he looked away, dismissing her. She squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was not here to gain his favor.

She took her seat on a settee beside the earl.

It shouldn’t have surprised her to see McKinney here again. If he was hunting for an heiress, Libba was that. And he was a feast for the eyes. There was no question that Libba was all gushing encouragement. She was his for the taking.

When dinner was announced, Cleo rose quickly, glad for a change of scene.

“Ah, my dear Cleo,” the earl said in his croaking voice. He waved his pale, thin hand on the air. “Come. A little assistance, please?”

With an obligatory smile, she offered her hand. He used it to haul himself from the chair. She staggered before catching herself, rooting her slippers into the carpet so she didn’t lose her balance.

He gripped her shoulder to right himself, crushing the capped sleeve of her gown. She fought back a grimace as he leaned against her, resisting the temptation to step away, quite convinced that if she did so he would collapse.

His labored breath blew moistly against her cheek. “I need but a moment to catch my breath,” he panted.

She nodded and watched as everyone filed out of the room in to dinner.

The hairs at her nape began to tingle and she had a certain sensation that she was being watched. She swiveled her head, surveying the last of the guests as they emptied the room. Nothing. It appeared everyone—

And then she spotted him.

Instead of escorting Libba in to dinner, he lingered in the corner, holding a glass of brandy lightly in his hand and surveying her and the earl.

His stare was penetrating, yet unreadable. Her face heated as he gazed at her. Mortification burned through her. She was acutely conscious of what he saw—the earl clutching her in an undignified manner as though she were a nursemaid and not a lady.

Thrumgoodie coughed hoarsely, regaining her attention. He struggled to regain his legs. His grip on her hand intensified. The fingers on her shoulder dug in deep and painfully. She bowed a bit beneath the pressure and stopped shy of crying out.

Abruptly, a deep voice rumbled near her ear. “I’ll help you there.”

She sagged with relief. Even if it was him. She didn’t think she could see Thrumgoodie all the way to the dining room without assistance, and no one else had lingered to see if she or the earl needed any help. She didn’t let herself consider why McKinney stayed behind. She was simply relieved he had.

The earl’s head snapped in his direction. “Eh? Who are you?”

“McKinney, my lord.”

“Oh, Libba’s beau.” He nodded as if remembering.

Libba’s beau. The reminder left a foul taste in her mouth and suddenly she didn’t want his help.

She tried to reclaim the earl’s hand. “We’re managing quite well, Lord McKinney. Thank you for your consideration, but it’s not necessary.”

He looked at her with those unreadable gray eyes. Just when she assumed he would turn and walk away, he made an exasperated sound and shook his head. Stepping close, he brushed her aside as if she were of no account.