“The Viscount Redbrooke.”
Upon his introduction, conversation in the bright, sunny parlor, died. His gaze alighted on Lady Beatrice, seated on a floral upholstered sofa, an embroidery frame in her hands. She set it down on the table in front of her and rose, amidst fluttering elegant pink satin skirts.
With her golden curls and the refined lines of her heart-shaped face, she epitomized genteel English beauty.
Then his eyes fell to Abigail, who occupied the seat next to Lady Beatrice.
He wanted to find the generous swell of her breasts and gently flared hips unbecoming on a proper lady. But by God, Abigail Stone possessed the kind of beauty man fought wars for.
She tipped her chin up a notch under his lengthy scrutiny. The slight tightening of her lips indicated she believed he’d evaluated her and found her wanting.
When in truth, he was the only one to be found wanting.
He bowed. “My lady. Miss Stone,” he greeted. He loathed the pull she had over him; a pull that made a mockery of the vow he’d taken after his father’s death.
Lady Beatrice nudged Abigail.
Abigail sprung to her feet, and curtsied. “My lord.”
Geoffrey felt Abigail’s stare on him and it occurred to him that she expected cool disdain from him. His mouth tightened. It appeared she possessed a rather ill-opinion of Geoffrey. “Hello, Miss Stone.”
“Hello, my lord.”
Beatrice motioned to the matching King Louis chair next to her seat. He hesitated a moment, eyeing the remaining spot alongside Abigail with a covetous longing he should be flogged for.
“Would you care for refreshments? Abigail was sharing her knowledge of the Greek myths,” Beatrice explained, folding her hands upon her satin skirts.
“No, refreshments,” he murmured. He quirked a brow in Abigail’s direction. “Greek myths?”
She colored, quite prettily from the tip of her head, down her neck, until he wondered just how far the heat of embarrassment ran.
Beatrice continued. “And she’s been teaching me of astrology and astronomy. She knows a good deal about the constellations. Abigail suggested that I might someday visit the Royal Astronomical Society.” Beatrice blushed.
It would appear Miss Stone had turned Lady Beatrice into something of a blue-stocking, not something he’d dashed upon his list of acceptable traits for his future viscountess.
Geoffrey directed his attention to Abigail. “You study the constellations, Miss Stone. I find that rather interesting endeavor for a respectable young lady.”
She squared her shoulders. “I take it you disapprove of a lady who is learned in such matters.”
He hooked his ankle across his knee. “Quite the opposite. I value a woman who possesses a keen mind and sharp intellect.”
He could tell by the slight widening of her eyes that he’s startled her with his admission.
Her lips tilted up at the corner in the hint of a smile. “My father is a shipping magnate in America, my lord. An appreciation for the stars and all things having to do with the sky is something he instilled in his children from early on.”
So the young lady’s family owned a shipping venture. Yes, he’d known a powerful shipping magnate had been connected to the Duke of Somerset in some way or another. The research provided by his solicitor had confirmed as much. “What manner of goods does your father deal in, Miss Stone?”
Lady Beatrice looked at Abigail and shook her head once; the meaning quite clear. Young ladies did not to discuss matters of business with gentleman.
Geoffrey wondered for a moment if Abigail intended to shift the conversation to more mundane matters such as the weather, and the latest soirees.
She tipped her chin up. “My father’s owns a line of clippers that run textiles down the Atlantic, to a chain of islands in the Caribbean waters.” She met his gaze squarely, as though she expected him to be scandalized by the mere mention of a gentleman dealing in trade.
“Ah, textiles have proven quite lucrative for me as well. Though a good deal of my business ventures are with India and in this part of the world.”
She stared at him, with wide, unblinking eyes. “You deal in trade?” she blurted.
He bit back a grin at having properly silenced the presumptuous, if endearing American miss.
“Abigail,” Beatrice said chidingly.
His lips twitched with mirth. It would appear Abigail neither knew, nor perhaps cared, about what constituted proper discourse among ladies and gentlemen.
Abigail ignored her cousin, and held Geoffrey’s gaze. “I shouldn’t expect that a proper English gentleman would deal in matters of business.”
“You would be wrong then, Miss Stone,” he murmured.
Polite Society did not approve of nobles who dabbled in trade.
What they did, approve of, however, were nobles in possession of outrageous amounts of wealth. And in spite, of Abigail’s rather low opinion and Society’s stringent expectations, Geoffrey had only expanded upon the mercantile empire built by his father.
Abigail opened her mouth to again speak, but Beatrice coughed discreetly into her hand, and those words went unspoken.
Geoffrey returned his attention to the lady he’d selected for his future viscountess, and he steered the discourse back to those topics she’d expressed an earlier interest in. “You care for matters of astronomy then, my lady. Is that something you’d like? To visit the Royal Astronomical Society?”
Lady Beatrice shook her head emphatically. “Oh, that wouldn’t be at all proper, my lord.”
Alas, Abigail would not allow him to remain focused upon Lady Beatrice.
“Whyever not?” Abigail interjected. “What harm is there in your visiting the Society?”
Lady Beatrice’s expression conveyed a blend of skepticism and horror.
Twin splotches of color filled Abigail’s cheeks, a deep red hue putting him mind of a succulent apple plucked from the tree. “Well, you can,” she said, a touch defensively, wholly unaware of Geoffrey’s desire for the summer fruit. She waved her hand. “Why, my father was born a servant. He worked in some fine lord’s household.”
“And then he fell in love with Aunt Margaret.” The whimsical quality to Lady Beatrice’s quiet utterance gave Geoffrey pause. With those few words, and wistful glimmer in her eyes, Geoffrey had his first indication that Lady Beatrice aspired for more than a cold, calculated wager between two suitable members of noble blood.
He shifted, uncomfortable by the sudden realization. He’d sought a match with Lady Beatrice who represented the practical choice. She possessed impeccable bloodlines and conducted herself with poise and grace amidst Society.
Now, she’d revealed herself given to more fancy than he’d ever considered.
Beatrice continued, seemingly unaware of Geoffrey’s turbulent thoughts. “Isn’t that true, Abigail? They have a great love, don’t they?”
“They do,” Abigail said softly.
Geoffrey’s jaw hardened. The love she spoke of had cost her mother the respectable place she’d held in Polite Society. She’d been forced to travel an ocean away to a foreign world and reestablish a life for herself…all because of love.
Lady Beatrice looked over at him and must have glimpsed something dark in his expression. “You disapprove of a marriage based on love, my lord?”
Again, Emma’s regal face flashed to mind. Since Abigail Stone had entered his life, all the old, ugly remembrances had resurfaced.
He detected the intent glimmer in the eyes of both ladies and Geoffrey knew whatever he next spoke would matter a great deal…it would seem, to both Abigail and Beatrice. “I believe there are great risks in making decisions based on emotion.”
Abigail’s body froze, like a deer caught in a snare, her eyes wide, unblinking.
Beatrice touched Abigail’s hand and the winsome American jumped. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Abigail said hurriedly, so that Geoffrey wondered as to her reaction.
<
br /> Suddenly uncomfortable with the discussion on the sentiments of love, Geoffrey returned his attention to Beatrice. “What other lessons have you learned from Miss Stone?” From the corner of his eye he detected the slight tightening around the corners of Abigail’s lips.
Beatrice smiled. “Abigail has also begun teaching me about the stars.”
Geoffrey looped one ankle over the other, and looked to Abigail. “The stars?” he asked Beatrice, all the while directing his attention to Abigail Stone.
“She knows a good deal about Greek constellations.” Beatrice furrowed her brow. “Which did you say was your favorite myth, Abby?”
Abigail gave her head a slight shake.
Beatrice’s eyes lit, and she jabbed her finger in the air. “Ah, yes. The story of Dionysus.
Geoffrey stiffened. Dionysus.
“Do you know it, my lord?” Beatrice went on.
Abigail touched her hand to Beatrice’s. “I’m sure His Lordship doesn’t want to hear about silly Greek myths.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “No, no. You’re quite wrong, Miss Stone. I’m intrigued.” He returned his attention to Beatrice. “You must remind me, my lady, about the story of Dionysus. I must admit it has been quite a while since I’ve studied the Greek classics.”
Abigail surged to her feet. “Er, if you’ll excuse me, I should leave you and Lord Redbrooke to your visit.”
Lady Beatrice sat forward in her chair. She reached for Abigail’s hand. “No you mustn’t!” Her blue eyes glittered with a faintly pleading expression. Then, with an unladylike show of force, Beatrice yanked Abigail back down into the seat she’d just vacated.
Geoffrey supposed he should be insulted. And he suspected he would have…if he wasn’t having such fun teasing Miss Stone.
Beatrice went on. “Placed in a labyrinth as food for a monster, Theseus convinced the King of Minos’ daughter, er…”
“Ariadne,” Abigail supplied weakly. Her fingers plucked at the fabric of her skirts.
“To take her with him if she helped him escape. Ariadne helped free him but he journeyed with her to an island.”
“The isle of Naxos,” Abigail added quietly.
Beatrice nodded. “But the fiend took her and left her alone.” A frown formed on her lips. “Everyone deserted her. Until Dionysus came to rescue Ariadne.”
Geoffrey sat frozen.
Lady Beatrice seemed to note that she had a captivated audience and continued. “Dionysus rescued her from abject loneliness and despair, and as a sign of his love, gave her a crown of seven diamonds.”
“Did he?” Geoffrey drawled. He glanced over at Abigail, who now trained her stare upon the mural painted at the central part of the ceiling. He wondered whether Abigail identified with Ariadne’s sense of loneliness and sadness. His amusement died a swift death.
A knock sounded at the door.
The butler entered with a calling card upon his silver tray. “The Earl of Sinclair to see Miss Stone.”
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes on the smiling, too damned affable Lord Sinclair, who filled the entrance.
Sinclair bowed low at the waist. “Miss Stone, my lady, how do you do?” He looked at Geoffrey. “Redbrooke.”
Geoffrey’s gut clenched as that unwanted emotion that felt remarkably like jealousy coursed through his veins with a life-like force.
Bloody hell.
Abigail and Beatrice rose simultaneously and curtsied.
Sinclair focused his attention on Abigail.
Geoffrey’s jaw tightened at the roguish gleam in the other man’s far too appreciative gaze. A gentleman didn’t ogle a young lady in such a manner. He…well, hell…he just didn’t.
Abigail and Beatrice sat.
Sinclair slid into the small, mahogany shell-back chair closest to Abigail. With its thin spindle legs, the seat was entirely too small for one of Sinclair’s size…and what’s more, too close.
Why when Sinclair sat in the blasted seat, Abigail’s leg all but brushed his thigh in a most inappropriate manner. God how he hated the other man for that subtle touch of her body.
Geoffrey was filled with an unholy desire to see that fragile piece of furniture shatter under the weight of Sinclair’s imposing frame.
Except, Abigail’s placid expression, indicated she was a good deal less impressed with Sinclair’s effortless charm than most other young ladies.
Ever the hostess, Lady Beatrice, engaged Sinclair in discourse. “We were just discussing the ancient classics before you’d arrived, my lord.”
“Specifically matters of astrology and astronomy, it would seem,” Geoffrey drawled, enjoying the heightened color that ran from the top of Abigail’s head, down her neck, and he wondered just how much lower...
“My cousin is rather well-versed in the topic,” Beatrice said.
Abigail dropped her gaze to her lap. “Beatrice is merely being polite.”
Beatrice shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no. Not at all. Er, that isn’t to say I’m not being polite. I am. But I’m also being truthful. Abigail knows nearly everything on the topic.”
Sinclair’s eyes lit with interest. He raised a brow. “Is that so?” He directed his question to Lady Beatrice. At his attention, color filled her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to the floor, clearly not immune to Sinclair’s charm the way Abigail had been.
Geoffrey frowned. He suspected he should feel a hard resentment, even a stony annoyance at Sinclair’s effect on Lady Beatrice, and yet…
His eyes went to Abigail.
She smiled at Geoffrey, clearly having noted her cousin’s reaction to the roguish Sinclair.
“We were just discussing the tale of Dionysus and Ariadne,” Beatrice said.
“Ahh, yes. The tale of Theseus’ desperate attempt at survival.”
Geoffrey gritted his teeth. Of course, the bloody perfect Sinclair would be so versed in the classics to remember the details of the myth.
“Is it really a tale of desperation?” Abigail asked. “I consider it a story of Dionysus’ great love for Ariadne.”
“You are a romantic, Miss Stone,” Geoffrey bit out.
Three pairs of eyes swiveled his way. He stiffened under their intense scrutiny.
“Are you a cynic, then, my lord?” Abigail quietly asked. A sound, very nearly a groan, escaped Lady Beatrice, who dropped her head and shook it back and forth.
Geoffrey ignored her. His jaw tightened. “I am a man of logic. I’d not be so desperate as to pledge my love to a woman merely to escape Minos’ labyrinth.”
Abigail moved to the edge of her seat, her back stiffly held in a way that Lord Wellington himself would have applauded. “Then you, my lord, must have never known desperation.”
Geoffrey moved to the edge of the seat. “Then you, Miss Stone, would be wrong.”
Silence met his pronouncement. The steady tick-tock, tick-tock of the ormolu clock, blended with the rapid breathing of Miss Stones’ heaving chest, filled the quiet.
Geoffrey balled his hands into tight fists, shamed by his unwitting revelation. He’d lived the past five years of his life guarded, protecting himself from outside notice and censure. In the span of a moment this woman had made him reveal a hint about the dark past he kept buried. He stood hastily. “Lady Beatrice, I shall leave you and Miss Stone to your visit with Lord Sinclair. Good day.” Geoffrey sketched a quick bow.
As he took his hurried leave, he felt Abigail’s eyes boring into the fabric of his garment.
With her romantic views and bluestocking tendencies, Abigail posed a threat to his well-ordered world.
Yet, for the first time in nearly five years, he craved the opportunity to live and laugh with the same reckless abandon the lady herself seemed to exhibit.
Geoffrey ran hands that shook through his hair.
God help him. It would appear he’d not changed at all.
A gentleman must keep a private box at the theatre. He is not, however, to take part in the public display of gossip that occurs a
t that particular venue.
4th Viscount Redbrooke
~11~
Scandalously loud whispers and too-polite laughter filled the auditorium of the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. The candles from the chandeliers set the theatre aglow in a flickering light, throwing shadows upon the theatre boxes. In the dim light, Abigail scanned the crush of satin clad bodies.
“It hardly seems like people come for the sake of the show,” Abigail said under her breath at the conclusion of Act I of Shakespeare’s Othello.
Beatrice grinned. “Don’t you know? The only reason Society attends the theatre is to gossip and gawk at one another.”
Abigail’s lips pulled in a frown. “That is a shame. Perhaps they’ll be quieter for the second half.”
Her cousin Robert snorted. He tipped back on the legs of his chair. “Hardly. Just the opposite.”
“Hmph.” Abigail’s gaze moved with methodical precision through the crowd, taking the opportunity to study the people in attendance.
Beatrice cocked her head. “Are you looking for anyone in particular?”
Abigail started, and gave thanks for the darkness that concealed the rush of heat that flooded her cheeks. “No.” She prided herself on the nonchalant delivery of that single word utterance.
Beatrice frowned, and leaned closer. She ran her pretty blue-eyed gaze over Abigail’s face.
Abigail pressed her back against the red velvet cushions of her seat.
Robert winked at her. “Beatrice’s trying to verify whether you are being truthful.” He directed his attention out on the crowd below.
“Oh,” Abigail said, lamely.
Her cousins studied her with such intentness that Abigail squirmed under their scrutiny. Still, she had one determined sister, and two, very obstinate brothers, three if one considered her youngest brother, back at home, and Abigail had long ago learned how to close her lips and aggravate them with her silence.
Knowing Beatrice studied her, Abigail quelled the urge to look for Geoffrey. It was utter madness, this desire to see him. Except…she touched the special pocket sewn into the front of her gown where she carried the frayed and battered scrap of Italian lace Geoffrey had twice rescued for her. She suspected there was more to him than the rigidity he presented to his glittering world: a man unafraid to intervene with the use of force if it meant the protection of a woman’s honor, someone who would set aside propriety to wade into a lake to retrieve a memento to stave off a woman’s sadness. He didn’t mock her interest in the stars as Alexander had, but seemed to appreciate that she cared to speak on topics different than those expected of a lady.
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous Page 10
