When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

Fenwick gave them both a disapproving stare. Before he opened his mouth to reply, Benedict grabbed the knocker and banged it a dozen times against the plate. That should wake the dandified lord from his bed.

Flustered, and not knowing what the hell to do, Fenwick beckoned them inside and closed the door. “Wait here.” With his white wig cocked to one side and his stockings wrinkling at the ankles, he took to the stairs.

The creak of floorboards and the pad of footsteps above confirmed someone had risen from their bed.

“What the devil’s going on?” Murray’s irate voice reached Benedict’s ears. “It sounds as though the damned cavalry are beating their way inside.”

“You have visitors, my lord.”

“Visitors? At this ungodly hour?”

Murray was unlike most hot-blooded young men of the ton. He did not venture to gaming hells or visit brothels. He did not entertain a mistress, or drink to excess. Indeed, he would be a perfect example of a respectable lord, were it not for his exces

sive spending.

Fenwick took to whispering, though Murray was keen to let the world know of his annoyance. “Then send them away.”

The butler muttered something else, and Murray huffed in frustration.

The lord appeared moments later wearing a burgundy silk robe and matching nightcap. It took Benedict every effort to keep the smirk from his face. But remembering the moment the thug slapped Cassandra brought his rage surging back.

“What the devil do you—” Murray came to an abrupt halt halfway down the stairs and stared at them incredulously. “Good Lord. Has there been an accident?” He hurried down the remaining steps, concern etched on his brow.

“An accident?” Benedict gritted his teeth. “You know damn well what has occurred.”

Murray’s eyes widened. “I haven’t the first clue what you’re talking about. Come. Let me call my housekeeper to tend to your wounds.”

“We were set upon by four thugs.” Benedict clenched his fists at his sides, relishing the stinging pain as it reminded him of the beating. “They commanded my carriage and were waiting on Theobolds Road. Thankfully, my coachman possesses a skill for pugilism. Still, that didn’t prevent one of them hitting Cassandra.”

The lord’s gaze darted to Cassandra’s face, though numerous times it dipped to the low-cut neckline of her gown.

“And you think I had something to do with this?” The tassel on Murray’s cap flicked back and forth as he shook his head. “You think I would condone a man hitting a woman? Surely not.”

Benedict stepped forward, and Murray clutched the lapels of his robe and shuffled back.

“Finnigan said you hired them to attack me.” A thug wouldn’t know the significance of the name, wouldn’t know of the man’s motive. A thug cared only for the money. “He named you. Do you expect me to believe someone else by the name of Lord Murray paid men to pummel me in the street?”

Murray’s jaw dropped. It took seconds before he formed a word. “But that’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t know how to hire ruffians from the rookeries.”

“I didn’t say they were from the rookeries.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? Besides, I’m grateful you married Cassandra. I couldn’t wed a woman embroiled in a scandal.”

Cassandra inhaled deeply but said nothing.

The old feelings of mistrust and doubt surfaced. Had Cassandra lied to him? “You ended the betrothal? You told Cassandra you couldn’t marry her?”

The lord grimaced. “The situation was impossible. Cassandra knew that. Love, and respect for my position saw her make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“So she released you from your obligation?”

“Well, yes, though she had little choice in the matter. As I said, her sense of duty—”

“I released you because I don’t love you,” Cassandra blurted. “I never have. And while I respected your position, I released you because any man who drinks port at his club while the woman he supposedly loves faces her worst nightmare is not a man I would want for a husband.”

Murray seemed confused. “Of course you loved me. Why the devil would you agree to marry me otherwise?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she countered. “We both know the answer. For power and position. Out of a misguided sense of guilt and duty. To keep our obsessive parents happy.”