A Scandalous Affair (The Merry Widows 3)

She’d forgotten how pushy she’d been, demanding Hugh introduced her to Hartwell. Of course he knew of her intentions, of her blatant pursuit of the man. She merely chose to banish it all from her memory, hoping Hugh would do much the same.

“Servants talk, Daph. Smythe told me everything. I chose to let you talk to me about it first—a mistake, I see.” The look in Hugh’s eyes was positively murderous. “That no-good bastard. He dallied with the wrong woman.”

“Hugh, no.” She patted his tense thigh, desperate to calm him down. The musicale they attended was small, but still. The last thing she needed was her brother acting out and causing everyone to wonder why. “I’m fine, really.”

“You’ve sulked ever since you invited him to my house.” His jaw hardened. “If I’d known you were entertaining Black Hart, I would’ve never let it happen.”

“You cannot control me, Hugh. You said so yourself—I’m a grown woman.” She cast a glance about the room. Saw their hostess watching them with narrowed eyes as she continued to sing. Her husband glared over his shoulder one more time, offering a stern, quick shushing before he turned and resumed enjoying his wife’s performance.

Daphne wanted to die of mortification.

“As soon as she stops chortling, I’m leaving. I’ll go to Hartwell’s house myself and tell him how I feel about his treatment of my only sister.” His hands clenched into fists and rested on his thighs.

Oh, Lord help her, her brother was undoubtedly going to cause a scene. If not here, then in front of Hartwell’s house, and everyone would know what happened between her and Cam.

She couldn’t have it. She couldn’t have her reputation ruined, nor Hartwell’s. Though she shouldn’t care what happened to him, what with the ruthless way he’d forgotten all about her.

Her heart panged at the realization.

“I’m going.” Hugh popped up the moment the song ended. “You cannot stop me.”

She watched helplessly as her brother hurried away, offering a brief apology to their host before he exited the room. He never looked back, didn’t offer a hint of what he planned to do, and she shook her head. She glanced about the room and parted her lips, as if she could ask one of the few guests in attendance to help her.

They couldn’t. No one could. She needed to follow her brother and make sure he didn’t harm Camden. Despite her anger at the way he treated her so carelessly, she didn’t want anything terrible to happen to him.

She cared for him far more than she wanted to admit.

In a flurry, she left. Didn’t even say goodbye to anyone, just fled the room, exited the house and ran down the steps toward her carriage. “Do you know where the Marque

ss of Hartwell’s residence is?” she asked the footman as he opened the carriage door.

“I do indeed, my lady.” He bobbed his head. “It’s in one of the grander townhouses in Town.”

“Good. Take me there. And hurry!”

* * *

Hartwell thumbed through the thick stack of correspondence, then threw it onto his already crowded desk. He’d been called to his country estate the moment he returned home from Daphne’s house not quite two weeks ago. He’d left that morning with nary a wink of sleep, traveling over the countryside for almost two days before he arrived.

The village close to his estate, full of those he employed on his land, had been flooded almost completely when the river close by overflowed from an unexpected late spring rainstorm. He’d assisted with what he could. Laboring, paying for repairs, feeding practically the entire village. He was busy from morning ’til nightfall, collapsing into an exhausted sleep then rising before the sun came up to start all over again.

Always thinking of Daphne each night before he fell asleep, dreaming of her. Regret filled him at the abrupt way he’d had to leave London. He’d sent her a quick missive explaining his whereabouts, but still, it likely hadn’t been enough. She must hate him. He’d only arrived this morning and slept most of the day away, thankful to be back in his own bed. He needed to send word to her that he’d returned, and quickly.

He was desperate to see her again. Touch her. Pull her into his arms, hold her close and never let her go.

Glancing about his study, he grabbed the glass that sat on the edge of his desk and drained it of the liquor inside. Amazing how strong he’d become since his encounter with Daphne. All these years, his father’s harsh treatment and devastating words had colored his life. Made him believe he was less of a man, a weakling, a stuttering fool who could barely force a single word out.

A few conversations and one night with Daphne changed everything. He felt stronger somehow and believed more in himself. Knew he was capable of helping his employees ensure their tiny village didn’t collapse under the strain of a natural disaster.

It was like a miracle.

He finally felt like the man who’d truly earned the title of the Marquess of Hartwell. Not a bloody bully such as his father but a…good man. Strong, and who could stand up for himself and for others.

And if Daphne would listen to him, receive him when he came knocking at her door, he planned on declaring his intentions for her. Then eventually, in the near future, ask her to become his bride. His marchioness. He never imagined the lady he wanted for his wife would complete him as Daphne did. That she would be so beautiful, so daring, so delightfully expressive and passionate. He was a lucky man indeed.

Hartwell frowned. Well. No need to jump to conclusions. What if she refused him? What if she were upset? She was a rational woman but he’d never seen her angry. He had no clue what she currently felt.

Nerves danced in his stomach and he wished for another drink but held off. He needed to keep his wits about him tonight. Especially since this evening could turn into one of the most important moments of his life.