Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(8)

Arriving at the entrance to their box, she hesitated, reluctant to rejoin the group within. She closed her eyes in a slow blink, only to find McKinney’s scornful gaze in the dark of her mind. Blast! The fact that such a brief encounter should trouble her was utter absurdity. Who cared what a single stranger thought of her?

Lingering in the threshold, she glanced inside. Thrumgoodie was nowhere in sight. Or Libba. Only the three gentlemen remained. She stared at their backs, on the verge of gathering her nerve and stepping across the threshold when she heard Hamilton mutter, “Blasted female. She’s got blunt enough of her own, so we know she’s only after his title . . .”

She registered no other words as anger shot through her. How dare he gossip about her? Mortifying heat swept through her. She stared at the long line of McKinney’s back, trying to gauge his reaction. Not that it should matter. Not that it did.

From the look he’d sent her earlier, she knew he’d already begun to form an ill opinion of her. This no doubt cemented it.

“Come, move now, Cleo, you’re blocking the way.”

At the sound of Libba’s voice, the three men turned around.

Even if she wanted to flee, she couldn’t any longer. Not without looking like a weak-hearted girl ready to collapse beneath the first strong wind. She couldn’t let Hamilton know he got beneath her skin. If she was to marry into his family, he’d best learn now that he held no power over her . . . that he failed to affect her.

After all, she was Jack Hadley’s bastard. The past year had toughened her skin. She’d endured the ugly whispers of the ton. What was he but another ugly voice on the wind?

Lifting her chin, she met Hamilton’s stare, hoping to convey how little she thought of him. He met her gaze with no regret, no shame. In fact, he looked quite pleased to have been caught in the process of disparaging her. Mr. Blackwell looked appropriately uncomfortable, tugging at his cravat as if it were suddenly too tight. Her gaze slid to Lord McKinney.

He stared back at her unflinchingly, his gray eyes as cool as fog coming in off the water. With features carved of stone. It was as if he saw nothing when he gazed upon her. Nothing worth seeing, at any rate.

Anger rose up bitterly in her mouth. In her first glimpse of him she had recognized warm interest in his gray eyes. He’d looked at her as though she were a lady of worth—a lady worth . . . well, considering. Now he looked at her like she was beneath his regard.

And it stung. Silly of her to care, she admitted. It’s not as though she could consider him. He was handsome, young, and virile—everything she wished to avoid. And yet, her eyes burned with a sudden sting of unwanted emotion.

With her chin still angled high, she strolled into the box and took her seat, staring straight ahead and telling herself she didn’t feel the gaze of the man sitting two seats over, coldly judging her.

He’d already made up his mind about her. Which was fine. She knew his sort. He’d probably gambled everything away at faro and needed an heiress to keep some decrepit estate from falling down around his ears. Once he secured his heiress, he’d stow her away there and keep her fat with his seed. Thank you, but no. Libba was welcome to him.

It was just as well he formed an ill opinion of her. She intended to cling to her poor opinion of him.

As Logan sat through the remainder of the performance two seats away from Miss Cleopatra Hadley, only one thought raced through his mind.

What a shameful waste.

It’s not as though she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever clapped eyes upon. Her midnight dark hair was fine enough—with a lovely glossy gleam to it. But it was her eyes. They shone with a sharp intelligence—a directness he had not seen in many a woman. It reached out and grabbed him, captured his attention as no lady had since he’d arrived in Town. There was something there at work behind her gaze.

His first hope had been that this was the Lady Libba he was here to court. He quickly discovered Libba was the garrulous chit wearing a profusion of peach ruffles. The fascinating Miss Hadley was courting the old man with one foot in the grave.

The longer he sat there with Lady Libba scooted close to his side, her nasal voice whispering inane remarks throughout the performance, the longer he mulled over the irony of finally meeting an heiress who intrigued him—and she happened to be intent on marrying an ancient English lord.

At the end of the performance, he wove through the crush with Lady Libba’s hand tucked into his elbow. At least he had gained the girl’s favor—precisely what he’d set out to do this night. He should be pleased with himself on that score and count the evening a success.

He glanced back to spot Miss Hadley following at a much slower pace on the arm of the earl. Her gaze briefly locked with his before narrowing and looking away. Her nostrils flared as though she’d caught wind of something unpleasant.

Shrugging, he faced forward. Dismissing the chit as beneath his concern, he glanced down at Lady Libba clinging to his arm and made his first tactical move in winning himself an heiress. “Have I mentioned how lovely you are, my lady?”

She blushed and tittered and swatted his arm. “Oh, la! Lord McKinney, you’re a terrible flirt!”





Chapter Five

Cleo brushed her hair vigorously until the dark mass crackled all around her like a brewing storm. The evening had left her disconcerted. She wanted to place the blame on Hamilton and his vicious tongue, but she’d only be lying to herself. He was only partly to blame for her consternation. The rest of the blame could be laid at the feet of him. The Scot. McKinney. That moment when those cool, gray eyes had looked at her with scorn was etched inside her mind.