Maura collapsed onto the sofa, refusing to glance at her aunt. All the reasons she offered were valid, but the immense chasm of her omissions distanced her from her aunt.
Contrite, Georgette glided to Maura’s side. She sat gingerly beside her. “Forgive me. I have been so overwrought by the thought of seeing Everod again that I did not fully appreciate your actions. All I saw were lies and betrayal. Naturally, you would want to protect me.”
Maura turned her head and faced Georgette. She swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. The apology was given not only in words, it was there in her aunt’s sorrowful expression. The sting from Georgette’s slap was too fresh for Maura to forgive. Lady Worrington could wring emotion as skillfully as any stage player.
Her aunt opened her arms. More out of habit, Maura accepted her embrace. “Oh, my poor girl, my treasured one,” Georgette crooned into Maura’s hair. “You must have been so frightened when Everod cornered you. Alone. No one to protect you.” She pulled back to see her niece’s face. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, Aunt.” Unlike you. “As you said, there were witnesses to our encounter,” Maura said woodenly. “Lord Everod inquired about the family, and asked that I pass along his respects. Considering the awkward situation, I thought it best not to upset either you or Uncle.”
Maura stared down at her clasped hands resting on her lap. She mentally willed her aunt to believe her. When she told Everod that she refused to be anyone’s pawn again, she had been truthful.
After a moment of silence, Georgette nodded and smoothed a strand of Maura’s face that had been glued to her face by her tears. “Of course. You thought only of your family. You are a good girl, Maura. My accusations were wholly unfounded. I found myself regretting my hurtful words even as I uttered them.”
“May I be dismissed?” Maura said, cringing at her subservient soft tone.
“Yes. Go wash your face and rest. We are attending the theater this evening, and I want you looking your best for Rowan,” Georgette said soothingly, her expression revealing that her thoughts had jumped to her grand plans for her niece.
Maura slipped out of her aunt’s embrace. She remained silent as she stood and walked stiffly to the door.
“Maura?”
She halted with her hand on the latch, her back to her aunt.
“You were correct in wanting to protect Worrington. He would be very distressed to learn that Everod had approached you.”
Maura looked askance when her aunt seemed to hesitate. “If Everod tries to speak with you again, I think it best for your own good that you tell me immediately. For now, I see no reason to let Worrington know that his heir is not above using you to hurt me again.” Georgette gave her a tremulous smile. “I could not bear it if Everod hurt you, my treasure.”
“Nor I, Aunt Georgette.”
Maura quietly closed the door.
Patience Knowden, Countess of Ramscar, had been promised by her husband a thrilling evening at the theater. He should have warned her that most of the drama would take place in the boxes instead of the stage below. First, Ram disappeared through the drawn box curtains with Cadd, Mr. Brawley or Mac as he preferred to be called by his friends, and Solitea regarding business with les sauvages nobles.
This was not the first evening she had sat next to an empty chair while Ram settled disagreements between his male friends. Resigned, she was prepared to enjoy the play alone. However, once the gentlemen had departed, Solitea’s duchess, Kilby, and his sister, Fayre, began a heated whispered exchange. Someone had caught the ladies’ attention in one of the private boxes to the right.
Unable to resist the developing intrigue, Patience slid into her husband’s chair. “I surrender. What has happened? Is it dangerous? Has someone issued a challenge?”
Although Ram refused to discuss the subject of dueling, Patience had not forgotten that he had once challenged a gentleman on her behalf. The other man had cried off, and his seconds had conveyed his apologies. It had been a dreadful ordeal. Ram’s father had died from mortal wounds he had sustained in a duel. She would not lose her husband in the same manner.
Fayre, Maccus Brawley’s wife, noticed her concern and clasped her hand in sympathy. She had been born a Carlisle. The poor woman had been surrounded by obstinate, reckless males her entire life.
“No one has been challenged,” Fayre assured her, her green eyes sparkling with compassion. “Not yet, anyway.”
Relieved, Patience closed her eyes. “Which one is in trouble?”
Kilby leaned closer so no one could overhear their conversation. “Everod,” she replied, her expression not as composed as her sister-in-law’s.
“Everod?” Patience blinked in surprise at the revelation. “He has yet to arrive. I realize the viscount can be rather maddening, but a challenge preceding his arrival surpasses my expectations of the gentleman.” She squinted in the general direction that had caught her friends’ interest, but she noted nothing extraordinary about the occupants.
“I suppose this involves a lady.”
It had not taken long in Everod’s company for Patience to deduce that the viscount was an unapologetic scoundrel. There was no denying he had a certain charm about him that might tempt a lady to risk her reputation for the chance of winning his heart. She would never admit it to a soul, especially not her husband, but even she had not been immune to Everod’s beguiling smile and silent invitation to be wicked with him.
Patience sighed. Both ladies glanced questioningly at her. “Well, there always seems to be a lady involved when we discuss Everod,” she said defensively.
“Not precisely,” Kilby whispered, discreetly concealing her hand as she pointed to the right. “The gentleman. Eight boxes across from us. Does he seem familiar to you?”
Before she had married Ramscar, Patience had traveled the countryside as an unremarkable player in rural theaters and fairs. She had been a rather competent petty thief, though it was not a profession she had been proud of, or one she boasted of to the ton. Nevertheless, the skills she had learned served her well in polite society.
Opening her fan with a flourish, she stirred the warm air as she discreetly sought out the gentleman that had caught Kilby’s and Fayre’s attention. She found him easily as she feigned boredom, allowing her eyes to focus on the box next to her quarry. It took a moment for her peripheral vision to gather the details she needed. He was an older gentleman. Over sixty. His hair had silvered and thinned, but he had a full head which was clipped close to his scalp. Although he was seated, she could deduce he was tall and obviously well fed if his slight paunch was any indication. It was difficult to tell from this angle, but from her point of view, he was a good-looking gentleman. There was a certain solicitous charm about him as he chatted quietly with his lady.
A certain charm …
Patience suddenly felt dizzy. “Good grief, is he—”
Fayre nodded, the diamond in her cinnamon tresses glittering in the dim lamplight. “Everod’s father, Lord Worrington. The lady next to him is his fourth Lady Worrington.”
Patience risked a second, more direct look at the blond woman. “Are you certain? She seems young enough to be his daughter.” She hastily stared down at her lap. “No, you are correct. She is not his daughter.”
Kilby giggled. “Not when she has her hand on his—”
“Kilby!” Fayre hushed her sister-in-law.
“Well, there are dark corners aplenty in this place,” the duchess said, enjoying herself. “Such a public display is an invitation for idle speculation.”
All three ladies giggled, then quickly sobered when a gentleman from another box cleared his throat.
“Who is the other lady sitting beside Lady Worrington?” Patience asked her companions. “Everod’s sister?”
“My sister? Heaven forbid,” Everod whispered behind them, startling all three ladies. “All the same, I suspect Lord and Lady Worrington will not be overjoyed when they learn of my plans for Miss Maura Keighly.
”
There was a noticeable chill to the air as the viscount glared at his family. Patience turned away, resisting the urge to rub her bare arms. She noticed a young gentleman had joined the Worringtons. Everod swore. Without a word, he straightened and left the box.
It was only then that Patience noticed her husband, Mac, and Solitea. She stood and walked around the empty chairs to greet them. “Who is he?” she asked Ram.
He had already told her that the viscount had been cast from his own family years ago. Everod had not struck her as someone who was embittered about his past. The gentleman who had stormed out of the box, however, seemed capable of murder.
“Mr. Rowan Lidsaw,” her husband replied, signaling for Cadd and Solitea to follow their angry friend. “Everod’s younger brother.”
Both gentlemen seemed troubled and that heightened Patience’s concern. Mac walked toward the seated ladies, and sat beside his wife. Fayre murmured something to her husband, who replied, but the orchestra playing below and the buzz of conversation from the other boxes prevented her from eavesdropping. Mac placed his arm around Fayre and kissed her reassuringly on the temple.
Patience stared up at her husband. She sensed his urgency, his need to leave her once again and join his friends as they rushed to Everod’s defense. “Ram, what is happening?”
“Uninvited family,” he replied as he lifted the curtain to leave.
Hesitating, he released the curtain and pulled her close to him. Ram lowered his head and kissed her, lingering over the task until she was breathless.
“Family?” she echoed, swaying in his arms.
There was a hint of regret in his gaze as he released her and pushed the curtain aside. “You know better than all of us that some families can never be mended. That some betrayals are too painful for simple words to heal.”
Chapter Eight
After her altercation with her aunt, Maura had prepared for their evening together. Her demeanor was subdued. Her uncle had commented on her melancholy, noting that her cheeks were flushed with color. He worried that she was ill, but Georgette assured him that what he perceived as illness was simply a case of nerves.
“At least pretend to be grateful for your generous circumstances,” her aunt hissed in her ear, when Worrington was distracted by another gentleman as they entered the lobby of the theater.
Aunt Georgette’s warning was clear. Maura was to behave and not call attention to herself, or she would be returning to Worrington Hall alone. Unfortunately, her aunt’s threat did not instill the fear she had hoped in her sullen niece.
Lost in thought, Maura fingered the pearl and silver necklace Georgette had given her before their journey. The polished silver gleamed against her skin. In spite of her resentment toward her aunt, she treasured the gift. The necklace was too mundane to be appreciated by the present Lady Worrington. According to her aunt, if it did not glitter or cost a small fortune, it was not worthy of her body.
Her arrival at the theater did little to improve her mood. The box her uncle had procured was chosen for its advantageous view of the other boxes. The view and the enjoyment of the theatrics on the stage below was a secondary concern. She listened to the orchestra, but the only voices that could be heard above the din of the audience were those of the patrons sitting in the adjacent boxes.
“Rowan, how good of you to join us this evening,” her aunt gushed, extending her hand out regally so he could admire the new emerald and diamond ring Worrington had bought her.
“My lady,” Rowan said, bowing over her hand. “Father.”
Maura tensed when his blue eyes rested on her face.
“Miss Keighly, I vow you grow more enchanting in my absence,” he said, bowing.
“Then pray leave me, sir,” Maura said, retrieving her hand when he seemed reluctant to release her. “Perhaps at our next meeting, I will be worthy of a higher compliment.”
The earl chortled at his niece’s wit.
Sweetly smiling at him, Maura said, “What say you, Uncle? Should I strive for fascinating or beguiling?”
“If another opinion is welcome,” Everod said, parting the curtains, “I would choose the word tempting to describe you, Miss Keighly. Though luscious also suits you, I am certain my father would view the word a trifle bold.”
Everod.
Maura felt her heartbeat quicken at his unexpected appearance. Leave it to the viscount to foil Georgette’s carefully laid plans and pick his own moment to acknowledge the family who had banished him.
The Lidsaws seemed frozen, uncertain how to respond. They were in a public place, after all. Maura had the sudden urge to laugh.
Everod must have sensed her amusement because the heat of his amber-green gaze touched her face. His interest drifted lower to the soft swell of her breasts.
How rude!
Expecting a mocking comment, Maura was puzzled when his gaze shot back up to meet her eyes. She could not understand the anger that had flashed, replacing his high-handed humor.
The viscount recovered swiftly. His stance wide, and his hands clasped behind his back, Everod stared down at his family. “Have you no words of welcome for your heir, Father? What about you, sweet stepmother?” He sighed as if disappointed. “Come now, Rowan. You have not seen your elder brother in twelve years. Is that not worth a brotherly embrace?”
Lord Worrington was the first to recover. Her aunt Georgette looked properly tragic as she grasped her husband’s forearm to silently remind him that half of the theater’s patrons were most likely witnessing their exchange.
“You are not welcome here,” the earl said, the words sounding as if they had been torn from his throat, leaving him bleeding and raw.
Maura shifted slightly and noticed that Everod had not come alone. Beyond the curtain, the shadowy figures of two or three men waited silently for the viscount to deliver his message to the Lidsaws.
And her.
She could not forget that he viewed her as the enemy, too.
“Are you deaf, Brother?” Rowan said, his tone so icy, Maura had thought the younger sibling incapable of it. “You have caused our family enough pain. If you feel it necessary, you may try again in another twelve years. Maybe then we will have forgotten your treachery.”
Everod’s jaw clenched in restrained fury. Taking a stalking step toward his brother, he sneered in contempt when Rowan deliberately placed himself in front of Georgette as if to protect her.
“Treachery?” the viscount said, looking down his nose. To Rowan’s credit, he did not flinch. Everod shook his head. “Father married it, you protect it, and I fucked it twelve years ago. I have yet to clean the stench from my nostrils.”
Rowan charged him, bumping his chest against Everod, daring him to raise his fist against his brother.
Maura stood, grabbing him by the arm. “Rowan, no!” she said in a harsh whisper, hoping her voice would not carry beyond the private box. They had already gained enough spectators. “Not here.”
Everod’s friends entered the box. Whether they were prepared to fight with their friend or stop him from attacking his brother had not been determined.
For her interference, the viscount glared at her. “Yes, Brother. By all means, listen to Miss Keighly. After all, the Lidsaw men have a notoriously sad history of allowing their cocks to rule over logic.”
“I do not fear you, you smug arrogant bastard!”
Lord Worrington seized Rowan’s arms from behind before he could launch himself at his older brother. Everod crossed his arms and laughed at them all.
“Get out of here!” Georgette hissed at him, her composure crumbling as she recognized that her stepson had won this skirmish. “Get out!”
With a final smirk at Maura, the viscount departed with his friends.
“I thought it went rather well,” Ram said, breaking the tense silence. “No one was punched, no challenges issued, and we have yet to be tossed out of the theater. If our luck holds, my wife will not punish me for abandoning her this eve
ning.”
Everod threaded his hands through his hair as he reached one of the dimly lit corridors that connected the boxes and circled around to open up into private saloons and a main staircase. Out of frustration, he slammed his fist into the nearby wall and welcomed the lightning bolt of pain that traveled up his arm.
“Feel better?” Solitea asked, not making the mistake of touching him.
“No!” he replied, his voice an ominous growl. His father had not seen him since he had been cast out, and the old man held nothing in his heart but contempt for him. Georgette had even corrupted his brother. The hatred in Rowan’s face clawed at him. “I would have felt better if I had tossed that lying bitch over the balcony.”
“Miss Keighly?”
Everod curled his lip at Cadd. Only he would dare to bait him, when he was so close to losing control. “I told you to leave Maura out of this.”
He brushed by the marquess, using his shoulder to clear the way. Ramscar shrugged at Solitea. The pair always seemed to be passing silent signals between them, and it was damn irritating at times.
He strode down the hall, uncaring if his friends followed. In fairness, Solitea and Ram had wives to look after. Responsibilities. He could not expect them to turn their backs on their lives just because he was angry and hurting.
Hurting.
The unspoken admission stopped him cold. With his back against the wall, he slid down until he sat on his haunches. It was humiliating to realize that after all these years he was still seeking his father’s approval. Or did he want absolution for succumbing to Georgette’s wiles?
Solitea crouched down next to him. “What were you hoping to gain from ambushing your family this evening?”
Everod had been standing in one of the upper balconies when he glanced down and saw his father, Georgette, and Maura enter the lobby. Even from his position, he could tell Maura was upset. Georgette had tugged on her niece’s elbow harshly and he had realized that all was not well between the pair. Someone had told the older woman that Everod had been sniffing around her innocent niece. Maura had likely suffered for his actions.
Scandalous by Night Page 7
