When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

McCreath inclined his head before flicking the reins and urging his horse into a canter.

Benedict wasted no time in assisting Cassa

ndra up onto his black stallion. She seemed a little sturdier on her feet. The strength had returned to her muscles, though her red-rimmed eyes and puffy face spoke of emotions wrought with panic and fear. He settled behind her, and she snuggled into his coat and rested her head against his chest.

Lord have mercy!

“I don’t think the day could get any worse,” she said, her voice as broken as her spirit.

He didn’t want to lie. Nor could he say this was only the beginning of her nightmare. “You’re a strong woman, Cassandra.” Strong enough to cast him aside after all her promises. “You will find a way through this mess and rise victorious.”

Her spine stiffened, and she grew rigid against him. At first, he thought her reaction stemmed from the distress of leaving the park and venturing out onto the street. But after muttering something wholly unladylike, she said, “When I discover who did this, I will make his life a living hell.”

After all she had put him through, he could believe that.

Chapter Three

The deathly silence slipped around Cassandra’s throat like the reaper’s bony fingers, ready to squeeze the last breath from her lungs. While being half-naked in Hyde Park proved terrifying, nothing chilled her blood like her father’s merciless stare.

Benedict Cavanagh sat confidently in the chair beside her, his back straight, chin raised. “Would you care to see the letter I received from the wicked conspirator?” The steely edge to his voice cut through the oppressive air. A fool could see that he loathed the earl, almost as much as he loathed her.

The Earl of Worthen studied Benedict through cold flint-grey eyes, eyes that made one shiver even in the height of summer. With his small mouth lost in a sour expression, her father flicked his fingers impatiently and motioned for the letter.

Benedict did not retaliate or sneer at the rude gesture. A wry smile played on his lips as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the folded note. He placed it on the desk slightly out of the earl’s reach.

Cassandra’s thoughts should have turned to the evil words written to secure her ruination. Yet she became lost in the memory of how comforting it felt being wrapped in Benedict’s warm coat. His unique scent—the divine smell that had faded from the secret letters hidden in her drawer—still filled her head when she inhaled.

“How the devil do I know you didn’t bribe someone to write this damning note? That this isn’t a vile scheme to trap my daughter into marriage?” The earl’s irate voice jolted Cassandra from her reverie. Anger turned her father’s cheeks beetroot-red. “Men like you hunt for ways to advance the social ladder.”

“Men like me?” Benedict mocked. “You mean illegitimate sons of peers who should be left to scavenge in the gutter?”

“I mean men who have no place in polite society.”

“You tolerated my company once.”

Benedict spoke of a time when their fathers were friends, of a summer spent in Brighton, a Christmas spent at the Earl of Tregarth’s estate near Bath. Happier times. Wonderful times.

“Yes, in private, and until you made me aware of your foolish designs to marry Cassandra.”

“Then you did me a great service,” Benedict countered. “On reflection, I thank the Lord I am illegitimate, else you might have taken me into your fold and sought to control me as you do your daughter.”

“Why, you spurious son of a wanton!” The earl thumped the desk with his fist. “If you were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t let Cassandra marry you.”

“Good. As I have no intention of marrying her either.” Benedict brushed a hand through his mop of golden hair. “I have dealt with self-righteous prigs my whole life. Throw your tantrums. Hurl your abuse. Nothing you can say can hurt me. I bow to no one. Perhaps that’s what frustrates you.”

Cassandra simply stared at the man beside her. His strength of character filled her with awe. Despite everything her father had said, Benedict Cavanagh possessed a duke’s bearing. She threw a suspicious glance at the earl, the man who had convinced her that Lord Tregarth’s son was a rogue controlled by his ungodly appetites, a man lacking influence and power.

Of course, she should have known what would happen next. Men obsessed with their own superiority took their tempers out on those they deemed weakest.

The earl turned his anger on her. “Do you see what you’ve created? Have I taught you nothing these last twenty-three years? Behave like a harlot and the world will treat you like one. Tell me, did you leave the ball to meet with Cavanagh last night? Did you concoct this story after giving yourself to him like a back-alley whore?”

Cassandra sat dumbstruck. Her mind was a muddled mess. She remembered visiting the ladies’ retiring room and nothing else thereafter. As she tried to rouse a response to the dreadful accusations, Benedict interjected on her behalf.

“Must you speak to her in that vile way?”

“Don’t tell me how to speak to my own daughter.”

“While a wealth of animosity exists between us—and she is the last person I would expect to defend—do you not think she has suffered enough? Where is your compassion? Where are the words of comfort?” Benedict glanced at her for the first time since he’d settled his hands on her waist and helped her down from his horse. “If this is how gentlemen behave, I thank God I’m illegitimate.”