Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

Sebastian grimaced, hurriedly smoothing back his hair. “I don’t know how you can joke about it.”

“It’s probably just someone out for a breath of—”

“Francesca?” William Tremaine stood silhouetted outside the gate.

She jumped as if hell had opened before her.

Sebastian thought that if her uncle hadn’t suspected she was up to something before, her guilty demeanor would soon convince him of it. Clearly it was up to him to take control.

“Mr. Tremaine,” he said, as if there were nothing at all the matter. “Miss Greentree and I were just taking a stroll. She finds the crowd inside oppressive.”

“Is that so?” There was a chill in his voice.

“Actually, we were just about to return,” Francesca said, reaching to unclip the gate and swinging it open.

He caught her arm. It must have hurt, because she gasped, but he didn’t release her. “You’re a liar,” he growled, glaring down at her. “I can read it in your voice. I can see it in your face. If you’re going to lie, at least learn to do it properly.”

“I’m not—”

“You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Uncle William!”

He had her outside the gate now, and he shook her so hard that some of her ringlets came loose and tumbled over her shoulder.

Sebastian had been momentarily too shocked to act, but now he saw red. Memories of Barbara rushed back, and with them regrets and anger and a sincere longing to make amends. He couldn’t let Francesca be bullied like his sister. He wouldn’t.

He launched himself at William and, roughly grasping the front of his neatly pressed shirt, hauled him away from her.

“Don’t touch her,” he said, and shoved the older man, hard, so that he stumbled backward and only just saved himself from falling.

Slowly Tremaine straightened, his frigid gaze fastened on Sebastian. “You’ve overstepped the mark, Thorne or Worthorne or whatever your name is,” he said, his voice full of fury. “Stay away from my niece. I don’t want you near her, or my house, again.”

“Uncle William,” Francesca began, her voice trembling, “you cannot—”

He turned on her. “I can do whatever I please,” he snarled. “I am the head of this family, and you will obey me or I will make your life a misery. Do you understand me?” And when she stared back at him, silent and stubborn: “Do you understand me!”

She flinched, and Sebastian couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to grab the man and shake him. He wanted to knock him down. But he couldn’t. Even as angry as he was, he realized that to create such a scene would only make things worse for Francesca. Her reputation hung in the balance as it was, and her uncle had the power to destroy her entry into society before it had even begun.

Don’t rock the boat. Be patient. Your time will come.

“Go with your uncle. Let him return you to the ballroom,” he said quietly. “Go on, Francesca. It’s all right.”

She looked as if she might disagree, but when she met his eyes, he tried to persuade her without words that it was the right thing to do. At last, with her chin held high, she turned and began to make her way back toward the house.

Tremaine started after her, but then he hesitated and turned back to face Sebastian. “Stay away,” he said, in that savage, icy voice. “Or I’ll destroy you. I might just destroy you anyway.”

When they were gone, Sebastian stood alone by the fountain, beset with turbulent emotions. Once he had thought it amusing that Francesca was so in awe of her uncle’s temper, but no longer. Tremaine was a bully, just like Leon. Was he like Leon in other ways? Did he use physical punishment? But Sebastian dismissed the idea. William Tremaine was more subtle than that.

But it didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The next few hours were the most difficult Francesca had faced since she was in the schoolroom, and was forced to conform to her first governess’s ideas of what a young lady should be. Punishment had become a way of life—until Amy realized what was going on and sent the woman packing.

Uncle William danced with her, stiff and furious and—most terrifying of all—perfectly correct. He was a good dancer, and it should have been enjoyable, but in her current state of mind she didn’t appreciate his talents.

“Uncle, please…”

“I will speak to you when we get home,” he said, between his teeth. “There will be no hint of scandal, Francesca. Not the merest whiff. I will not have it.”