Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(36)

Instantly, the trio standing in the threshold took shape. His gut clenched at the sight of Libba, her expression one of horror and disbelief. Thrumgoodie stood there, too, looking more ashen than usual, clutching his nephew’s arm as though it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

Logan sat up quickly and stood back from the bed, reaching down to cover Cleo’s legs with her nightgown. A hasty assessment told him there was little he could do to help her appearance. She looked like a woman thoroughly ravished.

Her dark hair floated like a nimbus around the wanton curve of her body. Her clouded gaze seemed unable to focus. She propped herself on her elbows and stared up at him beneath heavy lids.

“Cleo,” he whispered harshly, gazing intently at her flushed face. She looked appealing as hell, and he cursed the crowd of intruders.

Of course, better that they arrived when they did. He winced at the idea of them arriving five minutes later. Given more time, he had a fairly good idea of the scene they would have witnessed. Now that would have been a scandal to live down.

He glanced swiftly at their audience and then back at Cleo again. She murmured his name, extending her arms in invitation. Her fingers touched his neck. He grabbed her wrists to stop her from going any further. “Cleo,” he said more sharply. “We’re not alone.”

That did the trick.

Her eyes widened, and he knew in that precise moment full comprehension had hit. She stiffened and scrambled off the bed, dropping to her feet a good distance from him. She clutched the modest neckline of her nightgown to her throat, which only managed to pull the fabric tighter against her breasts.

Her lucid gaze scanned the room, stopping on the crowd gathered near the door. Since he’d last looked, the trio had grown in number. Where three had stood, now seven hovered. Four of Hamilton’s guests—more witnesses.

Hellfire. He couldn’t care less about himself or his reputation. But Cleo . . . she’d never survive this. It quickly became apparent to him that her betrothal to Thrumgoodie had come to a swift end. Normally, this would have pleased him, but not at this cost. People could be cruel, and he’d not have her suffer the viperous tongues of the ton once this night became public knowledge. Which would take no less than twenty-four hours. From the gleam in the eyes of Hamilton’s guests, they’d likely be on their way to Town tomorrow to share this juiciest tidbit.

Libba gained her voice. She couldn’t stop squawking and sputtering, hurling words he would never have suspected she even knew, and her venom wasn’t reserved all for him.

“You devious little witch! How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you? I should never have taken you under my wing! To think I protected you from all the wolves of the ton that wanted to gobble a little nobody—a bastard—like you up!” Libba motioned to Thrumgoodie. “I even pushed you at my grandfather, although it’s obvious you only want his title!”

Cleo’s face only burned brighter.

“See, uncle. I warned you,” Hamilton patted Thrumgoodie’s arm as though to console him.

Logan snorted, stifling the urge to plant his fist in the man’s face. The fact that the three of them had strolled into Cleo’s chamber seemed a little too convenient. It would never have occurred to Thrumgoodie or Libba to burst unannounced into Cleo’s room in the middle of the night. Logan knew who was behind this.

Hamilton shook his head as though aggrieved, but Logan read the triumph in his gaze. “What can you expect from someone of such low birth? Better you learn now before you married the harlot.”

Cleo flinched. Logan couldn’t stand it another moment. Not the slurs, not the wounded look in her eyes. He strode forward and knocked Hamilton off his feet with one punch.

Hamilton howled and clutched his nose. “Out! Out!” he screeched. “Leave my house and take your whore with you!”

Logan saw red. Bending down, he hauled the worthless excuse for a man to his feet.

Libba grabbed his arm. “Stop! You beast! Unhand him, you savage!”

Logan shook her off him with great restraint.

Then he felt Cleo’s touch on his arm. He looked down at her. “Enough,” she murmured. He stilled.

Libba looked between the two of them, the hate in her gaze only intensifying. “Yes, listen to your little harlot.”

A flicker of emotion passed over Cleo’s face but she didn’t acknowledge the insult.

“Oh, a very affecting display,” Libba continued. “You’re such a marvelous hero!” He winced at the sudden shrillness to her voice.

He released Hamilton and glared at the girl whom he had, for so brief a moment, considered marrying. What a nightmare that would have been.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, thrusting her chin out in a pugnacious angle. “Are you going to strike me, too?”

Suddenly, Cleo spoke, addressing everyone. “I’m sorry you all had to witness such a spectacle.”

Logan gazed at her. He wasn’t sorry. None of them had any business storming her room in the middle of the night.

She continued, “It wasn’t my intention . . .” Her voice cracked, and she shot him a glance. Some of the spark returned to her eyes, and he surmised that she had just reached the same conclusion he had. “What are you all doing in my bedchamber?” Her indignant gaze swept over everyone.

“Good question,” he murmured, swinging his gaze toward Hamilton.